


a hidden statement

by skuls



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Episode: e161 Dwelling (The Magnus Archives), F/F, F/M, M/M, Sasha James Lives, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) Lives, an au where they find the gertrude tape from 161 in s1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 101,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Martin finds the tape in the wall. Specifically, in a small hole in the drywall, tucked behind boxes and stuffed with so much crumpled paper and tissue that it's almost impossible to see anything else in there. It's a cassette tape, the sort Jon uses to record statements, labeled on the front with a brown strip of tape. It's addressed to the Head Archivist in a spidery handwriting.--Or: Gertrude Robinson made a tape as a warning to the next Head Archivist. What if he had gotten it?
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James & Melanie King, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 56
Kudos: 410
Collections: RaeLynn's Epic Rec List





	1. Chapter 1

Martin finds the tape in the wall. Specifically, in a small hole in the drywall, tucked behind boxes and stuffed with so much crumpled paper and tissue that it's almost impossible to see anything else in there. 

He only finds it in the first place because he's unable to sleep, distracted by restlessness or anxiety or sheer exhaustion, or every little sound that could be misconstrued as another worm. It's excruciatingly monotonous, to spend this much time in the Archives, only really leaving to have a drink with Tim and Sasha, or to grab a shower at one of their flats. (They've both offered their couches about a dozen times, but Martin always turns them down—not because he isn't thoroughly sick of sleeping in the Archives, but because he worries about the ethics of leaving, the possibility of Prentiss finding him somewhere else. The Archives have security, and are minutely prepared for this; Sasha and Tim aren't.) Martin's sick of it, and is unable to relax, finds himself spending most nights sitting up until the early hours of the morning, holding onto the corkscrew like it's a stuffed toy. That night, he's uncomfortable, though, scribbling in his notebook hunched awkwardly on the cot, and he decides to shove some boxes out of the way so that he can sit against the wall, and this is when he finds the tape. 

It's a cassette tape, the sort Jon uses to record statements, labeled on the front with a brown strip of tape. It's addressed to the Head Archivist in a spidery handwriting, one that Martin finds familiar. It takes him a minute but he eventually recognizes it as the same handwriting labeling all the old statements they've been going through. The handwriting of Gertrude Robinson. 

It seems inappropriate to listen to the tape himself, so he doesn't. He moves the boxes back and leaves the tape on Jon's desk, figuring that he'll want to hear it. 

Jon finds it in the morning. He gets in at an ungodly hour and is knocking on the door to the storage room within a few minutes. "Martin?" he says, and holds up the tape, silhouetted by the fluorescent light in the hall. "Do you know anything about this?"

Martin is not actually asleep, but is certainly not completely awake, and it takes a few moments for him to register what Jon is saying. "Oh, erm, yes," he says, sitting up unevenly on the cot. "I found that behind some boxes last night, and I… thought you'd like to hear it. Since it was addressed to you."

Jon's brow furrows and he looks down at the tape, turning it over and over in his hands. "You found it behind some boxes?" 

"Yes. I was moving them over to sit down last night, and that was behind it. Stuffed into some sort of hole in the wall." Martin clears his throat and resists the urge to yawn. Six is entirely too early to come into work. "The handwriting looks like Gertrude's," he adds. "I assumed she was trying to send you some sort of message."

"Yes, it certainly does, although I don't know why she would've felt the need to hide it in a wall." Jon is still looking down at the tape, digging his thumbnail beneath the edge of the label. The expression on his face has shifted, from confusion to something like… worry, or fear. Martin opens his mouth to ask him about it, but Jon is speaking again before he can, saying distractedly, "Thank you, Martin," and leaving the room. 

There doesn't seem to be much point in sleeping after that, so Martin doesn't bother. He goes through the usual morning routine he's developed since moving in here, in the quiet of the building that is only really broken by the soft whirring on tapes from Jon's office, and then he goes into the break room to make tea. It's there that Jon finds him again, about twenty minutes later. He bursts noisily into the room, nearly trembling, and says sharply, "Martin, where did you find that?"

Martin's hand jolts against the hot mug and he turns to find Jon staring furiously at him. "What?" he asks unthinkingly. 

"The tape! _Gertrude's_ tape, where the hell did you find it?" Jon snaps. He is definitely trembling, probably with anger, but maybe with something else, and Martin can tell from the look on his face that whatever was on that tape has shaken him. 

"I—in the wall of the storage room," Martin says, stumbling over his words. "Behind boxes of statements."

Jon runs a hand over his face and says in a ragged tone, " _Show_ me."

Martin shows him. Leads him back to the storage rooms and moves the boxes and motions to the small plastery hole and says, "There." Jon immediately crouches and reaches in, pulling out the paper and tissue quickly, and with such eagerness that Martin irrationally wonders if he should mention the possibility of more worms, somehow. But Jon stands, deflated, a moment later with empty hands, staring at the hole like something is going to come out of it. 

"Jon, are you okay?" Martin asks, because Jon really does look shaken. Not just tired and disheveled, which is how he's normally looked lately—which is to be expected when working twelve hour days, Martin's come back from dinner or drinks some nights and found Jon still here—but unsteady and shocked. Shaken. "W-what was on that tape?" he adds, pressing a little, thinking of Jane Prentiss and her worms, of the strange, eerie feeling that has seemed to cloak the Institute for months. 

Jon seems to snap out of it then. "Nothing," he says, shaking his head a little, determinedly. "Nothing. I… that will be all, Martin." He turns and leaves the room, walking down the hall and into his office and throwing the lock behind him. 

Martin grits his teeth together and goes to retrieve his tea and tries not to worry. It's not like he can strong-arm Jon into telling him, or anything like that, much as he might want to. 

\---

Jon listens to the tape four times that morning, and three more before the end of the day. He can't seem to walk away from it, can't stop pressing play. Can't stop absorbing the words of his predecessor again and again and again. 

Perhaps it shouldn't be a revelation, not really. Between the attack on Martin, the persistent feeling of being watched, and about a million other signifiers that things were not right—Antonio Blake's warning of Gertrude's death, the text from Martin's phone warning of a "crimson fate," the first goddamn statement Jon remembers committing to tape because it wouldn't record digitally. _You’ll wish you had stopped listening and run,_ it had said. Jon hadn't taken it seriously at the time, even with the slight edge of belief he hid beneath layers of skepticism. He wonders now if he should have. 

The first thing that came to mind was that it was a prank—which, of course, was the first thing Gertrude addressed. Of course, that could have been part of the deception, but Jon doubts it. Although he never met Gertrude Robinson in person, she has never struck him as a prankster. And aside from that… something in him just… knows. Knows it isn't a prank. Perhaps it's something in Gertrude's voice, the complete conviction and reassurance there, the total seriousness. Or, perhaps… perhaps it's related to what Gertrude was explaining. The… _entity_ he apparently serves. That he unwillingly serves. That he is _trapped_ into serving. 

According to this tape made by the late Gertrude Robinson, there are some sort of fear gods, or entities, attached to these statements. Jon is in danger because of his position, a position he cannot leave, which apparently might classify him as some sort of _ritual_ that could end the world. And his boss is apparently not to be trusted, has the ability to watch things without actually being there, and may or may not be the 200-year-old founder of the Magnus Institute. (That's not even touching on the revelations at the end, that Gertrude knows Jurgen Leitner, that there are tunnels somewhere in the Institute, and that Gertrude was planning to burn the Institute down, or something to that effect. It's a lot to tackle.)

It would sound utterly fucking ridiculous if not for everything Jon has heard and seen. For the lingering feeling that this isn't a lie. He doesn't _want_ to believe it, he wants to dismiss it and walk away, but something in him can't let it go. The part that keeps returning, that keeps pressing play. It feels real. It doesn't feel like a prank. And if it is real, if Gertrude was telling the truth… well, then Jon has much larger problems than a disastrously messy Archive. 

The thing is, he supposes, that he isn't sure what to _do_ with this information. It's a lot to process all at once, and it doesn't offer much in the way of advice for problems of the moment, such as what to do about the worm infestation. (Although it does explain the _reason_ for the infestation. If Prentiss knew who Martin was, if Prentiss has been planning this for a while… Jon doesn't like to think about that possibility.) But he isn't sure how to deal with the information at the moment, isn't sure what he could _do_ , aside from taking Gertrude's advice to play ignorant. 

So he does nothing. He keeps the door to his office locked, aside from venturing out to retrieve his lunch, and the second round of tea Martin makes. He records several statements on his laptop, and goes through boxes of statements as if searching for… for some sort of confirmation, something that aligns with what Gertrude has said. It is a fairly normal day for him, aside from relistening to the tape in intervals. (This stops in the middle of the afternoon, when Jon gets to the part where Gertrude mentions Elias's ability to watch; Jon stiffens then, hits the Stop button abruptly and shoves the tape player away. He wonders if Elias is watching and knows what Jon knows now; he wonders if Elias feels no need to watch at all times and Jon is safe for now. He wonders, not for the first time, if Gertrude is lying and Elias is trustworthy. He ends up pulling down everything in his office with eyes—there isn't much, but Tim tacked up pictures near his desk from his and Martin's birthdays, so those come down and are tucked into the side of his briefcase. Then he shoves the tape into a drawer and locks it and leaves it there the rest of the day.)

The thing he can't figure out is whether or not to tell the others. Martin suspects something, of course, but surely it isn't _this_ ; Jon genuinely doubts any of them would guess a thing like this. He is caught between the thought that they deserve to know, and the idea that it might not apply to them at all. Gertrude didn't mention assistants, after all; maybe they aren't in danger. Maybe they have the ability to quit; maybe they are simply normal employees caught in this web because of their proximity to Jon himself. He wonders if Gertrude would want Sasha to know, since she wanted Sasha to replace her, or if Sasha would be safer _not_ knowing, since she isn't the Head Archivist. (He wonders briefly if firing them all is the answer, getting them away from the danger without having to tell them a thing, without giving them the impression that he's gone mad. But the idea doesn't seem to stick, seems to squirm away at the first inkling. The worm imagery there isn't quite a comfort, either, so Jon leaves that idea behind quickly.) In the end, Jon decides not to tell them for now, although he has no idea if this is the right instinct. He hopes that he'll have time to correct the decision if it is a mistake. 

Jon stays late again, even though Tim tries to talk him into joining them for drinks. He's exhausted, but he wants to be alone for a bit, without the risk of the others hearing him, and he knows that this is probably the last time Martin will leave the building tonight. He's been worried about being overheard. Once they are gone, he goes to retrieve a drink from the refrigerator and then goes back into his office, mentally picking through the words he's heard seven times now once more. 

Gertrude advised the new Archivist to attempt to quit, in order to prove her correct. This seems like a reasonable first step. Of course, if Jon had been asked before now, perhaps a week or two ago, he thinks he would have said he had no intention of quitting. That he wanted to know what was happening, how all of this ends. Now… now, he isn't sure. He supposes he has answers, but he may not have the _ability_ to quit. A part of him thinks it might be a relief if his resignation went through; the rest of him thinks that he still wants to see the whole picture. It's hard to know for certain. 

But still: this is how it goes, this attempt at confirmation. Jon sits at his desk and opens his laptop, and thinks, _I have to quit_ , and a strange sort of nausea washes over him. But he opens a Word document and starts a letter of resignation anyway, swallowing back the persistent nausea. 

He only makes it through two lines before his hands freeze over the keyboard, his fingers jerking away. Jon swallows roughly and tries to move his hands towards the computer, but they won't move, suspended in place. His wrists are aching with the strain of it, and the nausea is growing worse. His head feels odd, almost like his brain is short circuiting. He keeps thinking, _I need to resign,_ and it's like he hits a wall in his mind. Like he can't form the next sentences of this resignation letter. Like he— _can't quit_. 

Jon reaches for the computer again and his hands jerk again, knocking into the laptop, which promptly tumbles off the desk, hitting the floor with a sharp crack. The screen flickers and goes dark. 

" _Jesus_ ," Jon says, and leans forward to bury his face in his hands (which are working again). He supposes that is his proof, or the best proof he can get. Short of marching into Elias's office and quitting to his face. Which would likely clue Elias in if he doesn't already know. 

(He wonders, briefly, if he should start referring to Elias as Jonah Magnus. If Gertrude was telling the truth, it feels appropriate. But that feels too strange, too ridiculous. The actuality of Elias being Jonah Magnus seems too bizarre to be real.)

Exhausted, Jon shoves the ruined laptop into a bottom drawer, tucks the tape into his pocket, and leaves for the night. Martin, who is flipping through a book at the table in the break room, offers a wave and a small smile as Jon passes. Jon offers a small wave in return and tries not to linger over how much Martin may have heard. 

\---

"Something's up," Tim says. 

"Nothing's _up_ ," says Sasha. "You know Jon, he just gets like this sometimes."

"Have you ever known him to hide in his office for three days straight with the door locked? He doesn't even do that when he's recording—which I don't think he's done since Wednesday."

"Maybe he's just in a mood. Or maybe he just wants some privacy."

"Or _maybe_ this is abnormal behavior for Jon, and something is _up_." Tim taps the corner of Martin's desk and says, "You're on my side, right, Martin?"

Martin has only partially been listening, but not exactly because he doesn't agree. He's been reading the information section of the same statement for the past five minutes—the part that Gertrude wrote out. "Me?" he says dumbly, looking up at Tim absently. It's the same handwriting, he's sure of it. 

"Yeah, you," says Tim. "You've been keeping more of an eye on Jon than any of us, right?" He winks, a little obnoxiously. 

"I have _not_ ," says Martin, looking back down at the statement and pretending his neck isn't a little red. He hasn't seen the tape since he left it on Jon's desk, but he remembers the handwriting on the label. The tape was definitely left by Gertrude, he's sure of that. What concerns him is what on the tape shook Jon as badly as it did. 

"Oh, leave him alone," Sasha says, not unkindly, but not without an edge of teasing in her voice. "Maybe Jon's just having a bad day. Or a bad week. Or maybe he just wants some peace and quiet."

"Oh, come off it. Martin, seriously, have you noticed anything odd about Jon lately?" Tim prods. 

Martin chews his lip and considers the subject, briefly. He doesn't see any real reason _not_ to tell them; it's not as if he knows the contents of the message, just that Gertrude left one. So he isn't breaching any promises of privacy. And besides, he knows Sasha has actually met Gertrude before now, which is more than he can claim. Maybe she'll have some idea of what Gertrude would have wanted to say—why it shook Jon so badly. 

So he tells them what happened, leading with the hole behind the boxes, and ending with the tense conversation in the break room. By the end, Tim looks a little bemused, like he can't believe this is the source of Jon's apparent strangeness. And Sasha looks… thoughtful, or something like it. Some emotion Martin can't quite place. "That's it?" Tim says, sounding unimpressed. "Some sort of boss to boss communication? Advice on his promotion? I guess he was horrified by Gertrude's explanation of her disorganization."

"We don't know it's that," Martin offers. "Anything could be on that tape. Maybe it wasn't about the Head Archivist position. Maybe someone taped over it."

"It wouldn't have been something mundane, I don't think," says Sasha, contemplatively. "Assuming the tape _is_ from Gertrude… I don't think she would've felt the need to hide it like that if it was just some advice on how to organize the Archives."

"Or un-organize the Archives," Martin mutters, remembering the headaches all of them had gotten on the first few days on the job. 

"Whatever it is, it obviously freaked Jon out," Sasha says. 

"So you're admitting he's freaked out," Tim says, making a face at her. She makes a face right back. 

"Maybe it has something to do with… Prentiss," Martin says quietly. They've been on edge for weeks because of Prentiss, for much too long; he still jumps at anything small and silvery, any strange, wet sounds. "Or something like that. Some of the… things that are in here."

"It could be," Sasha offers quietly, taking off her glasses and cleaning the lenses on the hem of her shirt. 

"Well, whatever it is, you know he won't tell us. He's too _secretive_ for that," says Tim. 

"We could ask. There's no harm in asking," Martin says. 

Tim corners Jon later, on his way out (Martin supposes he decided not to stay late this time), and asks, jovially enough, about the tape. Jon shoots Martin a look when Tim mentions that Martin told them, but he doesn't say much about it. He sort of half-shrugs—ears up around his shoulders, practically—and says something like, "It's… complicated. I'd rather not discuss it. Have a good night," before ducking out. 

"That was suspicious as hell," Tim says once he's gone. "I think there's more going on here than filing tips."

"He _is_ acting strangely," says Sasha. "Shut up, Tim."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were going to."

"That is _entirely_ unfair. And, besides, if you really wanted to know what's on that tape, just have Martin listen to it when he's here all alone."

"I am _not_ doing that," Martin says immediately. Tim sticks out his tongue in response. 

"Seems reasonable to me," Sasha says. "Jon will tell us if he feels we need to know. I say we leave it at that."

Martin would be fine to leave it there, if it weren't for all the empty time between the evening and the morning to worry about things like that. Between the tape and the worms, it gets a little exhausting. And the fact that Jon shows up at six again, comes into the storage room and asks Martin if he's ever seen any sort of strange doors or tunnels around the Institute, certainly doesn't help things. It only leaves Martin with more questions in the end, and more of a sinking feeling when it comes to the tape. With Jon acting so strangely, he doesn’t see how it could be anything un-ominous, anything normal

\---

Jon winds up telling everybody after Sasha's statement, six days after he listens to the tape. He knows they've noticed something is wrong—none of them are idiots, not even Martin. (The time since his own statement has proven that.) It's something he's wrestled with for a while, whether or not to tell them—he wasn't sure if it applied to them, if it was something they needed to know, for their own safety if nothing else. (Elias dropped by the Archives a couple of days prior, claiming to want an update on the Prentiss situation, and Jon nearly lost his mind, hovering in the doorway to his office and hoping no one would bring up tapes from Gertrude. Elias may already know, but on the off chance he doesn't, Jon doesn't want to bring his attention to it. He's been agonizing over what to do with Elias, the revelation that he isn't to be trusted. He isn't sure how to handle things besides to play dumb. But it's hard to look Elias in the eye knowing what he knows, hard not to question him or spew out accusations. And Jon doesn't think he wants the others to trust Elias, either.)

In the end, safety is what decides it. Jon isn't sure if he ever really thought the job was dangerous before Martin and Prentiss, but he certainly did after. The revelation that Martin had lost his phone trying to take a photo to get proof for _Jon_ —on an assignment that Jon sent him on… Jon sees it as a wake-up call more than anything. He feels ashamed remembering the cavalier comments he'd made at one point about sending Martin after that Angela character, after the revelation that Martin _was_ attacked on one of his assignments, and very well _could have_ died. And the idea that it could happen to any of them, at any time, is a lot to take. Jon hasn't changed routine much aside from Martin staying in the Archives, but the tape seems to paint things in a new light. He is in danger and apparently always will be, and there's no way out; if this applies to Martin and Sasha and Tim… 

The proof, and the decision, comes from Sasha's encounter. It seems to solidify the fact that his assistants are in as much danger as he is, and that they can very easily get tangled up with the entities that Gertrude spoke of, first Prentiss, and now this Michael character… It gets to Jon. It starts with the point in Sasha's statement where she says that she agreed to go to the cemetery on the promise of saving him and Martin and Tim—but what Sasha says at the end is what makes the decision. She says, "I should really quit, you know. We-we all should. I don’t think this is a normal job. I-I don’t think this is a _safe_ job." And at that, something settles in Jon's stomach like a heavy stone. Under his breath, he murmurs, "I don't think we can."

Sasha sits up straighter, pushing her glasses tiredly up her nose. "Sorry, what's that?"

"End recording," Jon says sharply, into the recorder, and hits the button to stop it. (If Elias can see everything, then stopping the recording won't be much use. But as much as Jon is tempted to continue keeping a record of what happens—something like what his predecessor had left for him—he doesn't think he should approach his assistants with a tape recorder. Not with this.) 

He says to Sasha, as gently as he can manage, "Before you go, Sasha, there's something I think you should hear. All of you, I think—Martin and Tim need to hear it, too, but you should hear it first, I think." He doesn't know if she knows what Gertrude thought of her, but Gertrude believed she may have been speaking to Sasha; even if the words are more meant for Jon due to circumstance alone, he thinks he should give her the courtesy of hearing this alone the first time around. 

"Okay," Sasha says, a little confused. "What is it? Is… is everything okay?"

"I should have shared this with you sooner," Jon says reluctantly, removing the tape from his pocket and loading it into the player. "I'm sorry I didn't. I… if you just listen, I think things will be clear."

Sasha stays quiet through the tape. She seems to shrink in on herself a little, face drawn with worry, but she stays quiet. Jon plays the whole thing, even the leftover bits with Jurgen Leitner, and when it's done, she says, "Y-you're going to let Tim and Martin listen to this?"

"Y-yes," Jon says immediately. "Of course. I… I can call them in right now, if you want."

Sasha nods, her face shifting into something of determination, so Jon goes to the door and motions Tim and Martin in. They sort of cluster around the desk, Martin shooting Jon questioning looks, and Tim passing Sasha the coffee she mentioned earlier. "You okay, Sash?" he asks, a hand on her shoulder. "You look a little shaken."

Sasha clears her throat and says, "I… think Jon's got a tape he wants us to hear."

Martin's eyes dart to the tape recorder on the desk and he says, "The Gertrude tape? The one she left in the wall?"

"Yes, Martin. That one." Jon sighs, tiredly, and places one finger on the button. "I felt you both should hear this. I'm sorry I didn't share it with you sooner." 

They listen to the tape all the way through without speaking, although Jon can sense the varying, complicated emotions through Tim's and Martin's changing expressions. He isn't sure how many times he's listened to the tape at this point—aside from that first day in the office, he's listened a few more times at his flat, and he lost count somehow. He isn't sure if Elias has seen any of these times, or if he's watching right now—he isn't sure how the clairvoyance works. The conversation between Leitner and Gertrude at the end of the tape suggests that the supposed tunnels are some sort of safe haven, but Jon has had no luck in finding them. He's taken some time to remove eye imagery from the office and home, considering what Gertrude said about Elias and symbolic eyes, but he isn't sure how successful that has been, either. He's sure that all three of the others have photos in their workspaces, so that might have ruined things in and of itself. 

Martin and Tim aren't taking the tape well, Jon doesn't think, and Sasha doesn't seem any better after hearing it the second time. Tim's looking as pale and drawn-out as Sasha did by the end, hand resting on the arm of her chair, and Martin has one hand over his mouth, like he is astonished. When the tape clicks off, he says faintly, "That was… the tape I found in the wall?"

"Yes." Jon pushes up his glasses to rub at his eyes. "I would assume Gertrude was trying to hide it from Elias. I'm not sure how successful it was."

"What the _fuck,_ " Tim says, staring incredulously at the tape player. "Is this—Jon, is this real?"

"It would seem so. I've seen no evidence to the contrary."

Tim looks back and forth between Sasha and Jon as if looking for confirmation. Martin still has his hand over his mouth, but he seems to be looking at Sasha, too. “I know,” Sasha says faintly. "It sounds insane, I know, but I—" She sighs, shifting in her seat. "I don't know. It doesn't… it _feels_ real. I don't know. Maybe it's just because I've heard it twice through now."

"Whoa," Tim says, holding up a hand. "Aside from the obvious revelation that Sasha was _very_ qualified for this position—" Sasha jabs him in the arm at that, but he keeps going. "—I'm expected to believe that our boss is an evil clairvoyant version of that… Magnet guy?"

"Tim," Sasha murmurs quietly, although not unkindly. 

"I know it's a lot to take in, but… you heard Gertrude, there at the beginning," says Jon. "This wasn't a prank. And besides that… I've had proof since."

"Prentiss," Martin ventures from his spot at the corner of the desk. "A-and the worms, here, that… are those the… entities she mentioned?" He waves a wild hand at the tape player. 

"I would assume so. Or some sort of… servant. I'm certainly no expert," Jon says, biting back ire at the mention of the fucking worms. This must be what Gertrude meant when she said that he would constantly be in danger, Prentiss and Michael and everything of that sort. He just wishes his assistants wouldn't get caught in the middle. "Sasha, Gertrude mentions your background in Artifact Storage, as a sort of… credit to what she's saying? Can you think of anything that would confirm this?"

"It feels real, like I said." Sasha shrugs a little. "Part of it feels like things I might have heard before, although it's hard to be sure… it's a lot to take in, you know?"

"Yes," Jon mutters. Martin nods in quiet agreement. 

"Wait a sec," Tim says, tapping the table. "Jon, you said you had proof of this. What d'you mean, _proof_?"

"Oh, the, uh—you asked me about tunnels," Martin says. "Did you find any?"

"No, I haven't had any luck with that. The… proof I was referring to was a piece of advice Gertrude offered. In the tape." Jon rubs at his eyes again, wonders briefly why he ever thought this promotion would be a good idea, since apparently it's an all-binding curse. "I tried to quit," he says, maybe a little bluntly. "I… couldn't. I couldn't write my resignation letter. It was like my brain froze up. I, uh." He pulls his broken laptop out of a lower drawer and sets it on the desk for them to see. "This happened. It felt like I didn't have any control over it."

Martin sucks in air through his teeth at the sight of that, and Sasha shuts her eyes briefly. Tim says, in maybe the hardest voice Jon's heard from him in their years of working together, "So we're trapped here."

Jon tries not to flinch at that. "I… don't know, Tim. I don't. I wish I did. _I_ certainly am trapped here, but Gertrude doesn't make it clear… I don't know." 

"One of us could try to quit," Sasha offers quietly. "That would be the way to figure it out, right? For one of us to quit. If we couldn't, we'd have our answer."

Jon thinks of her words at the end of her statement, the ones that prompted him to play the tape, and really does flinch then. "I'm sorry," he says. "All of you. I'm sorry… for this. I didn't know."

Tim and Sasha are looking at him, expressions somewhere between fear and exhaustion and anger, between disbelief and understanding. Beside them, Martin says, too gently, "We know that, Jon. Or… I know. I know it's not your fault." 

Jon inhales and says, "Right." He exhales with a whoosh. "Right, well. You three should go home. Get some rest… Sasha, you must be exhausted. I'll… make up something if Elias asks. We don't have to hash this all out right now."

Tim sighs a little and says, "Sure. Uh, thanks. Thanks, Jon."

Sasha offers a small, strained smile as she stands and says quietly, "Thank you. I'll… see you in a few days, I guess."

They leave immediately together, Tim's hand on Sasha's arm, not looking back. Jon wonders for a brief moment if he'll ever see them here again, but then he remembers that probably none of them have a choice. He sighs, looking down at his desk—removing Gertrude's tape from the player and moving it back to his pocket. It takes him a few moments to realize that Martin hasn't moved from his seat. "Can I help you, Martin?" he says tiredly. "There's no real reason for you to stay unless you'd just like to."

"Well, um… I _can't_ go anywhere." Martin's shoulders are going up, like he's trying to shrink into himself. "I… I'm staying here. Remember?"

"Oh." Jon had forgotten, as a matter of fact, and his neck goes hot at the realization. "Oh, right. I had forgotten." 

"Right," Martin says. "Well, I can go back to the storage room. Get… out of your hair, as it were."

"Yes, I suppose so," Jon says. He isn't sure what else _to_ say to that; it isn't as if Martin _can_ go home. 

But, of course, he doesn't think of the implications of Martin being in the Archives—the place where they are trapped, the place where Elias often is, who apparently is not to be trusted—all the time, until Martin is already outside of the office. Surely that isn’t safe, if Elias can’t be trusted—if the Institute is the centerpiece of a lot of supernatural, dangerous things that might be coming here… 

Jon goes after him without thinking about it, stepping out into the hall and calling, "Martin?" 

Martin turns around expectantly. "Elias—hasn't…" Jon begins, and stops mid-sentence. Asking if Martin has _seen Elias around the office_ will sound absurd. He tries again, lowering his voice (as if that's going to help if Elias is clairvoyantly watching them): "You haven't seen… anything odd after hours, have you? Elias, or… Aside from… worms, I mean."

"Oh," says Martin. "Uh, no. No, nothing like that."

"Oh." Jon clears his throat. "Good." Even if Martin isn't the most responsible worker, Jon doesn't want to put him in _more_ danger by letting him stay in the Archives. Particularly if they're all trapped here. 

He starts to turn back to his office, but Martin speaks before he can. "Jon, uh… you really think this is all real? With… Elias?" He motions to the ceiling vaguely. 

Jon suppresses a sigh and says, "Yes, I really do. I've found proof, like I said."

"What do we _do_ about it?" Martin wrings his hands briefly, lets them drop by his side. "I mean, do you… have you…"

"Gertrude recommended laying low," Jon says. "Playing ignorant. So this seems like the best course of action to me."

"Right." Martin swallows. "Yeah, that makes sense."

They stand in silence for an awkward moment before Jon says, "Well, let me know if you need anything, Martin," and goes back to his office. He hears the door to the storage room open and close a few minutes later. 

The rest of the day is normal, aside from the extreme quiet on the other side of the office door. And the times when Jon peers into the window of the storage room to make sure Martin is all right. (He is, of course, because even if Elias knows about what they know, he wouldn't necessarily show it. The concern is just a result of Jon's burgeoning paranoia.) More worms appear during the day, to Jon's increasing frustration; he remembers, later, what Sasha said in her statement about fire extinguishers, and emails Elias reluctantly asking for several extras to stock the Archives with. He goes through several statements and continues to record. (He's been muddling over Gertrude's advice on the disorganization of the Archives; while the confirmation that the disorganization was purposeful is a bit of a relief, he's still not sure what he thinks of the method. He still knows so little about all of this. He's inclined to continue going through. And recording them is a good source to determine which statements are accurate and which are false.) 

Martin brings him tea later that afternoon. Jon stays a little later than strictly necessary, leaving sometime after seven. And he says goodbye to Martin before he leaves. Strictly as a matter of reassurance, of course; he also checks to make sure Elias has left for the day before he goes. He leaves an extinguisher by the cot, too, just in case Martin will need it.

\---

Tim comes in the next day. Jon sends Sasha an email encouraging her to take a few days off in light of what happened with that Michael, and she states her intention to take the time off. But Tim still comes in, in something of better spirits than the day before. Not exactly _happy,_ or anything like that, but maybe a little less resentful. Jon isn't sure. 

He _does_ pull the both of them aside, Tim and Martin, first thing in the morning to speak with them about the situation at hand. "I'd rather us not talk about it here, risk being overheard," he tells them. "I think we should just continue our work as normal, perhaps… gather information, try to prepare ourselves for what's coming."

"Might as well, huh? Since we're trapped here," says Tim, a little bitterly. 

Jon bites back a grimace. "I… Tim, if you'd like to try and quit, as Sasha suggested, I won't hold it against you. We don't have any real confirmation that you all _can't_ quit…"

"That goes against the idea of playing ignorant, right?" Tim half-smirks, adds a bit begrudgingly, "I'm not running for the exits yet, boss. I've… got my own reasons for being here, I guess. But I won't say I'm happy about this."

Jon swallows and says, "Yes, well. I don't know if anyone can say they're happy about this, Tim. But, er, your assistance will be appreciated." 

"Thanks," Tim says dryly. 

Martin's still sitting there, silent, on the other side of Tim, and Jon feels awkward enough to add stiffly, "Yours as well, Martin," and that's the end of that. (He's surprised to find that he might even mean it, this time. He isn't sure why. But, well, Martin did find the tape. Martin's the reason they know what they know. Jon owes him that.)

Work more or less returns to normal after that. Sasha returns to work a few days later, and while Jon makes the same offer to her about trying to quit, she insinuates that she wants to stay for now, too. "Curiosity, probably," she says. "Or maybe that's just the potential inability to quit. Who knows?" She agrees to keep things under wraps for now as well, and to avoid bringing up the tape in the office. 

They keep researching statements, primarily the ones that won't record digitally. (YouTuber Melanie King shows up to give a statement, although it just ends in a shouting match.) Although Jon continues to dismiss them on tape (he supposes he understands the feeling of being watched now), he knows these are the ones to pay attention to. He sends a memo around mentioning trying to look for patterns in statements. He's noticed several himself—not just in the recurring people and places, like Leitner or Gerard Keay or Hill Top Road, but in some of the stories appearing the same. His guess is that it relates back to the entities Gertrude referred to, and paying attention to those similarities in particular seems like the best way to try and figure out what these entities are. 

Jon continues looking for the tunnels. He tries to regulate this to evening hours, after he knows Elias has left—he's continued staying late anyways, so what better time is there? Of course, Martin is always there, on the nights that he doesn't go out, and he usually insists on helping. (Not entirely a useless or cumbersome offer, Jon supposes, considering he found the tape in the first place.) But they don't find anything despite their combined efforts, to the point where Jon isn't sure where to _look_ anymore. They poke at walls and the floor and move a few boxes, until Martin points out the possibility of finding worms burrowing behind boxes, which brings up a whole new round of anxiety. Martin suggests that going _through_ the walls as a way to find the tunnels, but Jon rejects that on the basis of disliking the idea of destruction. Martin even spends a decent amount of time poking at wall sconces and moving books in the library like they're looking for some sort of secret passage (which seems ridiculous, but better a ridiculous effort than none). But there's still no luck. 

The worms don't go away. They only seem to grow in their numbers as the weeks go by. The CO2 helps, but only in the moment, and it continues to be overwhelming how they just keep coming. Everyone seems to be on edge as he is, and the tension only increases with the influx of more worms. Jon would say that he doesn't know how Martin manages to spend most of his time here, but it would be a bit hypocritical, as he's spending twelve hours or more here every day. Early hours in the morning, late hours at night. Martin won't stop getting after him about it—the disadvantage of him living here, Jon supposes. It's a little ridiculous. The first time Jon falls asleep at his desk, he ends up startledly shouting himself awake when Martin tries to take his glasses off. It ends badly, of course—with Jon's chair on the floor, and Martin stumbling back saying, "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" 

"Martin, what in the world are you doing?" Jon snaps on instinct, blinking owlishly in the dim light of his office. 

"You—I didn't know you'd fallen asleep in here, and I-I know it can be uncomfortable to fall asleep with your glasses on…" Martin's cheeks are red at this point but he doesn't stop talking; he moves onto another point. "Why _are_ you sleeping here, Jon? You should really go home."

"That is _beside_ the point," Jon says, retrieving his glasses, face stunningly hot for no real reason. "But I lost track of time. If you must know."

"You should… at least not sleep at your desk," Martin says quietly. He looks half-asleep himself, dressed in clothes definitely not for work, hair pillow-mussed. "Bad for your back."

"I-I suppose so." Jon clears his throat and rubs his forehead. "Good night, Martin. I… the effort is appreciated, but not necessary."

"Sure," says Martin, still quiet. "Night, Jon." He leaves the office then, and Jon takes on the task of getting home after midnight. (He comes into work at the normal time the next morning, for the worry that Martin will start hovering again if he shows up at eight a.m. He gets an extra cot for his office, which becomes useful after the Prentiss statement. And he ignores the strange, brief temptation, when he finds Martin asleep in the office one night around ten, to take off _his_ glasses. It's a ridiculous impulse, and he's sure Martin will never let him live it down.)

\---

"What do you make of all this?" Sasha asks one week at Friday night drinks. 

"Of what? Of the Gertrude tape?" Martin asks, maybe a little tiredly. He hasn't been sleeping well, between the anxiety of the worms and of Elias, their apparent fucking evil boss, and Jon staying late all the time. He's not a nuisance exactly, just _Jon_ , but it still leaves Martin weirdly on edge for ridiculous reasons. Not to mention how often he falls asleep in the Archives. (The other night, he actually fell asleep on the floor of the _storage room_ Martin sleeps in. Completely by accident; he was going through statements and insisting that Martin didn't need to help because it was "after hours," so Martin was reading, and the next thing he knew, Jon was asleep on the floor. He feels a little bad for not trying to wake him up, but Jon was out cold, so Martin slept all night with the sound of Jon's even breathing across the room.) 

"Yes." Sasha pokes at the olive in the bottom of her drink with a little black straw. "I mean, I know it sounds insane, but I think most of it is accurate. It tracks with how… strange Gertrude was, and… I do believe in the supernatural. I'm not sure how you could work at the Institute and _not_ believe, at least a little."

Tim snorts. "Yeah. You could only if your name starts with _Jonathan_ and ends with _Sims_."

Sasha muffles a laugh with her hand. "But seriously. Call me crazy, but for me, the idea of… supernatural fear gods isn't the hardest thing to take on that tape."

"I… no, I agree with that," Martin says, lifting his glass a little aimlessly. The condensation on the side is cool on his palm. 

"So, what?" Tim says in mock surprise. "You're saying the idea that our boss is not only evil, but is also actually the 200-year-old founder of the Institute, isn't _believable_?" He covers the face of the man on the front of their menu with one palm. 

"What are you doing?" Martin asks, pointing to it. 

Tim stage-whispers, "Elias can watch through fake eyes, right?" and Martin stifles laughter of his own. It's so ridiculous that it _does_ sound false, even though he knows it isn't. 

"Right, sure, but see, I looked up Jonah Magnus, and I found a drawing of him," Sasha says, pulling out her phone and holding it out for them to see. "That doesn't look like Elias."

Tim shrugs. "Drawings aren't always reliable, y'know."

"Well, I mean, Gertrude did say she knew Elias—um, Jonah Magnus—under a different name," Martin points out. "I don't think he'd be obvious enough to just change his alias and stay in place."

"That's what I was thinking," Sasha says, moving her phone back. "If Gertrude's correct, I don't think that's… necessarily the same face as 200 years ago."

Tim snorts. "Is he doing some sort of Hannibal Lecter sort of thing? Cutting the faces off of bodies and pasting them over his own?”

“That’s disgusting,” says Sasha. 

“No more disgusting than half the statements coming across our desks. And c’mon, he doesn’t give you the serial killer sort of vibes? He seems like exactly the sort of person to cut off faces.”

“I wouldn’t talk about this so loud, Tim. I think the people one table over are about to call the police,” Martin says quietly. Tim chokes back laughter and rolls his eyes a bit.

"I’ll tell you one thing; I don’t like just sitting around and waiting for something to happen. Doing nothing just leaves me on edge," Sasha says. "I mean, I do trust Jon, and he's probably right about laying low. If Elias doesn't know that we know, then we shouldn't make it obvious. I just… I hate just sitting and _waiting._ We can't trust Elias but we still have to talk to him in the break room and ask him for more fire extinguishers when we need it? I can't stand it."

Martin nods in agreement. In a way, it's almost worse being in the Institute all the time; he doesn't really relax until Elias leaves for the day, and even then, it's a struggle. He's always muddling over whether or not Gertrude was right, when she said that Elias could watch them at all times out of any eyes. Having Jon around helps a little, but not much, not really.

"I've said it before, Sash, that it is absolute bullshit that you didn't get the Archivist position," Tim says, tapping her arm. "Even Gertrude thought so! She left that tape for you!"

"Even Gertrude knew it wasn't a sure thing!" Sasha protests. "And considering that tape, I don't think I'd want—"

"No, no, I know. In fact, that was going to be my next point." Tim holds up a finger for emphasis. "You completely deserve a promotion… but I'm damn glad you didn't get the position. Gertrude didn't make any of that sound pleasant."

"True." Sasha slurps up the last of her drink with her straw. "Gertrude emphasized rather heavily on the 'constant danger' and the 'evil boss' and the 'you're trapped here forever, and you're part of a ritual to end the world.' I don't envy Jon."

"I don't, either," Martin says. He's looking down at his plate a little embarrassedly, reconsidering saying what he's about to say—but he wants to say it to _someone._ "I'm… a little worried about him," he admits. "All of those things don't sound pleasant. And that… strange text from Prentiss about Jon's _crimson fate_ … I—" He chews on his lower lip and doesn't finish the sentence. _I think I led Prentiss right to him. That she was looking for him and she followed me there._

Tim and Sasha don't tease him about it. Not that they would, but, well. Martin thinks it's written pretty nakedly on his face. Tim just claps him on the shoulder and says, "He'll be all right, Martin. It's _Jon._ He's… scrappy."

Sasha busts out laughing at that and says, "That's one word for it, I guess," and Martin chuckles a little, too, and that's the end of that, at least for the time being. He goes back and showers at Tim's before heading for the Institute. Jon is already gone by the time he gets back, his office dark. Martin doesn't linger at the door. 

\---

Everyone reacts a little differently to the Gertrude tape; that one's obvious immediately. Jon's gotten a little more… eccentric, to put it kindly. He's hiding in his office a lot still, but Martin says he stays late a lot to work late or search for the tunnels. Most of the time when he comes out, he seems to be walking the line between jittery and sleep-deprived. He's still recording statements, although he's got a focus on the ones that record digitally, and even that process seems a bit haphazard; Tim mentions rerecording some one day, to correct inaccuracies, and Jon just distractedly points out that the inaccuracies will probably be _helpful_ if they're trying to throw off Elias. (Which doesn't make much sense to Tim, but he's willing to roll with it.) 

The rest of them are still researching statements, but Sasha's been using her spare time to look into some of the information Gertrude mentioned—mostly into Jonah Magnus (the non-Eliasified Jonah Magnus, Tim thinks), but also a bit into Jurgen Leitner. ("He knew Gertrude, he was in the tunnels at the end," she says distractedly when Tim mentions it one day. "Maybe it's… important. This tape would've had to be recorded after he went off the grid in the 90’s, right?") If he had to guess, he'd assume her interest is connected to the fact that the tape was at least partially meant for her, but he doesn't want to pry too far into it. He trusts Sasha, and her interest will likely be more productive than not. 

Martin seems a little rattled, between the worms and the tape and helping Jon look for the tunnels. Tim can't really blame him, staying in the Archives as much as he does. He spends a little time during work hours looking without it really amounting to anything. He spends a lot more time devoted to the new, unofficial sorting system Jon's suggested—trying to cluster statements by similarities—although Tim sees him return to Jon's recording of the Jane Prentiss statement more than once, listening to it quietly at his desk. Looking for clues, maybe, or something to be taken as a warning. 

Tim himself is trying his best to actually pay attention to this new sorting idea. He isn't sure how accurate their randomized grasping is—they had an extended debate over whether or not all the war-related statements could fall under the same category—but he has a vague hope that it'll work. He has his own interests he wants to pursue, outside of deep truths and avoiding an evil boss. (Although he supposes preventing the end of the world isn't a goal he'd be opposed to, but Jon hasn't really brought it up. He's barely talked to anyone about this besides Martin, and that's just because he and Martin are together a lot after Elias has left.) He keeps going back to the statement about the calliope organ, like a compulsion. 

The first thing he'd thought of after hearing that tape was Danny. Of course it was. It's the reason he's here. And Tim doesn't know much about fear gods or a fear apocalypse, but he's guessing that one of Gertrude's so-called entities is behind Danny being gone. So figuring out which ones are which seems essential. It's what he's here for, after all; it's why he came. 

(Sasha brings it up one night, Movie Night at his flat when she's mostly asleep on his couch, her freezing feet shoved under his leg and her glasses pushed up on her forehead. "Tim, you've been looking for Danny, haven't you?" she whispers during the end credits of the movies, half into the side of the couch. "You… Martin said you were looking at the calliope statement."

Tim shrugs a little at that. Sasha's the only one who knows about it at the Institute and he hasn't regretted telling her yet. "A little bit," he says. "I mean… I came here looking for answers, right? Gertrude's tape offered some answers… I guess. And Jon wants us to sort things…"

"Right, right." Sasha muffles a yawn behind one hand. "Tim, y'know if you ever wanted… help, or anyth—just, I'm here if you need me, okay?"

"Okay," says Tim, one corner of his mouth turning up almost involuntarily. He says, "Thanks, Sash," and she says, "'Course," sleepily, and he lets himself be glad for a moment that if he has to be trapped in a horrendously dangerous worm-infested job, at least it's with Sasha James.)

The environment remains kind of tense. The worms are enough, but the added unspoken threat of everything on the tape doesn't help. And the question of how much Elias knows is lingering, too. Tim has taken to avoiding Elias whenever he goes upstairs or runs into him in the halls, and he knows Sasha and Martin are doing the same. Elias manages to pop in when they're eating in the break room one day, though. Actually scares the shit out of Tim, who's sitting with his back to the door, and has to resist the urge to jump when Elias pops up in the doorway and asks how they're doing. 

Sasha's pretty much the one who saves them in this scenario, saying, "We're fine, how are you?" in a meticulously steady voice while Martin chews on one thumbnail and avoids eye contact and Tim nudges his mug over to the napkin holder.

"Just fine," Elias says. He has an odd look on his face when Tim turns to look, one Tim can't quite place, but he is smiling. It's a bit unsettling. Tim understands Sasha's complaints about having to play dumb. "I thought I'd come down to check on the worm situation."

"It's been bad," Martin says abruptly. "We're running low on fire extinguishers."

"We can look at getting some more if necessary," Elias says, unaffected. 

"I'd definitely say it's necessary, boss," Tim says, maybe a little tensely. He stepped on three worms just walking down the stairs this morning. 

"I'll have a look at things. I also wanted to ask how the archiving is going." Elias smiles, in a matter that causes unease. "Any progress made in terms of organization?"

The three of them exchange an uncertain look. "It's been fine," Sasha says.

Tim pushes the mug up against the napkin holder. "Lots to organize."

"Found anything interesting?" says Elias. Martin's foot taps abruptly against the leg of the table. The words are deliberate, to the point of maybe creeping Tim out. "Anything… out of the ordinary?"

"Elias?" Jon steps into the break room abruptly, so quickly that Tim thinks he must have jogged here or something like that. His voice has a weird edge to it, like questioning and anger all at once—although Tim knows exactly what Jon's getting at. "Did you… need anything?" he asks. He sounds like he's gritting his teeth, almost. 

"Just checking in on everyone," Elias says amicably. 

"If you need any sort of formal updates, I'd be glad to fill you in," Jon says tightly. "You could come and talk to me."

Tim turns away to look at Sasha and Martin, raises his eyebrows thoughtfully at them. Martin swallows, lifting his own mug. Sasha pulls off her glasses and wipes them on the hem of her shirt. 

"Duly noted." Elias clears his throat and moves for the door. "Well, I'll leave you to it, Archivist. And thank you for the recommendation, Martin. I'll take it into consideration."

Tim waits for his footsteps to fade down the hallway before turning again. "Nice one, boss," he says. "Thanks for the save."

Jon clears his throat uncomfortably. "I—don't know what you're talking about. Martin, what did he mean? About your recommendation?"

"Oh, uh—I mentioned we needed more CO2," Martin says. "You know, for the worms."

"Oh. Right, yes. Good idea." Jon's fidgeting a little, eyes going between their table and the door, the hallway, the direction Elias disappeared in. "If he… comes down and starts asking questions like that again… I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know."

Sasha speaks this time, saying, "We will, Jon. Thank you." 

Jon looks between them again before leaving, heading for his office. Tim sighs, leaning onto the table. "I'm with you, Sash. I can't stand interacting with—" He points to the ceiling, sucking in air through his teeth. Sasha grimaces in agreement, folding her napkin absently.

"He knows, right?" Martin says. His voice comes out in a worried croak. "I mean… he has to know."

Tim doesn't say anything to that. He isn't sure _what_ to say. "I don't know, Martin," Sasha says quietly. "Wish I did."

\---

Martin finds Jon immediately when the delivery comes. The delivery men creep him out, and besides that, with everything that's been happening, Martin feels like Jon should know immediately. If it's something important. If it's something dangerous. If the men fell under the category of "Things That Want to Hurt Jon Because He's The Archivist." 

In the midst of searching for Jon, Martin ends up upstairs, at the front desk, to ask Rosie if she noticed anything off with the delivery men, or if she saw them at all. (For one strange moment, he wonders if they were invisible somehow, managed to sneak past everybody.) Rosie did see them, though, and she doesn't seem to think anything was off about them. She does mention another delivery—something to Artifact Storage. Some sort of table. 

Martin ends up finding Jon back in his office, spraying down a cluster of worms near his chair with an extinguisher. Martin hadn't even noticed them before. Jon stamps on the shriveled worm corpses briefly before looking up and spotting him by the door. "Martin," he says, out of breath a bit. "You moved the extinguishers again."

"Oh," Martin says gingerly. "Sorry."

"It's all right." Jon sighs, setting the extinguisher on the edge of the desk. "I—did you need something?"

"Yes. Uh, somebody made a delivery for you. They left a table upstairs in Artifact Storage and they gave me this." 

Martin steps further into the office and passes Jon the package. He stares at it with something like suspicion, turning it over in his hands. "What—who… who delivered it? What is it?"

"They didn't say," Martin says. "But, uh, there were two men. Cockney accents. Weird vibes. I dunno."

"That—that's strange. That sounds familiar, I…" Jon rubs at his forehead for a moment. Then he reaches out and grabs the tape recorder on his desk. "Can you say that again? Describe them? Into the recorder?" He jabs the record button with one finger. 

"I—what do you want me to _say_?"

"Just… describe them. Whatever you saw. I don't know." Jon motions vaguely at the recorder. "I-I want it on tape. I want a record."

So Martin gives a description again. There isn't much to tell—like he tells Jon, he doesn't really remember what they look like. Jon seems satisfied enough after a few moments to open the package, although he leaves the recorder running. Martin braces himself when Jon opens the package, like something is going to pop out at them, but it's nothing like that. It's just a lighter. A regular lighter with a spider web etched on the side. "That's… strange," he says. "Although it doesn't look dangerous, at least."

"It _is_ an ignition source in a room full of paper statements," Jon mutters. "But I don't know who in the world would have… I don't _like_ spiders." He picks it up, tests the weight in his palm, clicks it on and off briefly before setting it on the top of the desk. Then he looks back up at Martin. "You said there was something else?"

"Yes, um, a table of some sort. Rosie signed for it. I haven't seen it," says Martin. 

"Hm. I don't—we should have a look at it." Jon scoops the recorder up and moves for the door. Assuming that the _we_ includes him, Martin goes along. 

The table in question doesn't look _that_ strange in a room full of bizarre supernatural artifacts, at least not initially. It looks like an old sort of coffee table, with some kind of pattern carved into the top and a small square hole in the center. Martin could almost think it doesn't belong here if it weren't for how strangely enticing the pattern grows the longer he looks at it. In fact, he stares at it much too long, so long that Jon has to jostle his shoulder and snap, "Martin!" to snap him out of it. 

"Sorry," he says absently, rubbing at his eyes and blinking the pattern away. "That's… Jon, what _is_ that?"

"I think I might know, but it's hard to be sure…" Jon sighs a little, pressing an absent hand to his mouth. "Martin, would you go get Tim and Sasha? I'd like to see what they think of this."

"Tim's out, I think," Martin says. "Looking into that statement about the ritual site in Scotland…"

"Oh, right. Well, Sasha then. She has experience in Artifact Storage, and I know she researched the… I'd like to see what she thinks."

It's clear that Jon has something in mind already, but Martin doesn't press. He goes to retrieve Sasha and brings her back to Artifact Storage. She recognizes it almost immediately. Her eyes widen when she sees it, and she says, "Jon, is that… from the Amy Patel statement?"

"That was my suspicion. I wanted to see if you felt the same way," says Jon. 

"It's been a moment since I heard it, but this… she described a hole and a hypnotic pattern. This would qualify, wouldn't it?" Sasha reaches out cautiously, but doesn't quite touch it. 

"Martin was certainly hypnotized by it for a moment," Jon says. 

Martin rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "The Amy Patel statement, that's… the man who was replaced by something?" he offers gingerly. 

"Yeah, that's the one," says Sasha absently. She's staring at the table a little dreamily, the way Martin's sure he was staring earlier, so Martin taps her on the shoulder to try and snap her out of it. She turns towards him with a small smile and murmurs, "Thanks." She clears her throat and adds, "I'm not sure how significant it was in the statement, but I think it's safe to say that it probably wasn't delivered as a fun gift or anything like that."

"I agree," Martin says, maybe too quickly. When Jon looks over at him, he adds, "I mean… I got a strange feeling from those delivery men. And Gertrude said people would be trying to harm you, right? They said the delivery was for you, specifically."

"I'll agree that the table and its significance are a bit unsettling," Jon says, the edges of a scoff suddenly in his voice, "but I'm not sure it could _endanger_ me in any way."

"We don't know that, Jon," Martin presses. "I… I think it'd be a good idea to destroy it. If there's even the slightest possibility that someone sent it to harm you…" 

"That seems extreme," says Jon. He still sounds confident, although some of the ridicule seems to be gone out of his voice. "It seems to me that studying it would be productive, since that is what Artifact Storage is for… Sasha, what do you make of all this?"

Sasha sighs, pushing her glasses up on her forehead. "I don't know. I mean, most of the stuff in this room seems to have been involved in things like the Amy Patel statement, or things much worse… I'm not sure why this table would be any different. But I'm not sure why it was sent directly to you, Jon, rather than the Institute itself… that seems suspicious to me." 

"What are we doing in here?" 

Martin turns and finds Elias standing in the doorway, pleasant enough look on his face. But the sight of him still puts Martin on edge. "Rosie mentioned we'd had a delivery?" he asks. 

Jon clears his throat pointedly. "Yes, some sort of table. We seem to have identified it based on a previous statement."

"Clever." Elias steps into the room, leans over to take a closer look. "Which case is this from?"

Sasha answers him this time, pushing her glasses down out of her hair. "Case #0070107. Um, Amy Patel. A neighbor of hers replaced by… some sort of imposter."

"Really." Elias turns away from the table to survey the three of them thoughtfully. "And you were discussing whether or not to destroy it?"

"Yes," Jon says, a bit tensely. "The question seems to be whether or not it is dangerous. Martin seems to think it should be destroyed, but I'm unsure."

Martin is watching Elias carefully at this point, wanting to gauge his reaction. Gertrude warned Jon not to trust Elias. He can still hear her words on the tape, saying, _On the subject of Elias: Trust nothing he says._ They've all taken that seriously from the moment they heard the tape, even if it did feel bizarre at times. Avoided him in the past month or two. Followed Jon's example and removed photos, drawings, anything with eyes from the office. So Martin knows that if Elias advocates for keeping the table, it must really be dangerous. And his hope is that Jon will think so, too. 

Instead, Elias says something that nearly knocks Martin off his feet. He says, "I'm inclined to agree with Martin."

Martin blinks in a shocked stupor. Jon says, incredulous, " _What_?"

"Simply advice on my part, of course. You can do as you wish. But the whole thing strikes me as suspicious, and potentially dangerous. And the last thing I'd want is to put my employees in danger."

 _Liar,_ Martin thinks, but he doesn't say it. He supposes he doesn't _know,_ not really. His throat is dry. His instinct is still to destroy it, but if Elias is advising that… is he trying to get them to do the opposite of that, to keep it intact because it's more dangerous that way? Or is he truly trying to protect them for some bizarre reason? Another part of the tape springs to his mind. Gertrude had mentioned plans Elias had for Jon, warned him about rituals and to be cautious of Elias's requests. It sounds ridiculous, but what if Elias wants Jon safe for now because he'll need him later?

"Yes, well…" Jon is saying in a strange tone. "I will certainly think on it. I still think studying it would be quite beneficial to our pursuits."

"Whatever you think is best, of course," Elias says. His tone is a bit strange, too. He inclines his head, says, "Martin. Sasha," and turns and leaves. 

Jon inhales and exhales somewhat shakily, looks between the two of them and says, "I suppose… we should leave it for now. I don't want to destroy it just yet."

"Right." Sasha sighs a little, shrugs. "Right, whatever you think is best, Jon."

Jon looks at Martin then, almost like he _wants_ his _opinion_ —which would be a first. Martin doesn't say anything. He isn't sure what he feels now. 

So they go downstairs, and they leave the table, and Martin makes a mental note to avoid Artifact Storage in the middle of the night. (Not that he makes much of a habit of wandering the Institute at night—it gets eerie late at night, like all huge, dark, empty buildings.) Sasha mentions it to Tim later, who seems a little rattled, but seems to agree with Jon. "I mean, if Elias—" He lowers his voice to a stage whisper. "—said we should destroy it, we should do the opposite, right?" And that's the line of thinking they're seeming to go with. That's that. 

Jon stays late that night, in the weird little routine he's developed, which Martin is usually in or around except on the nights he leaves. Tonight it consists of Martin ordering takeaway and reading at his desk while Jon holes up at Sasha's. Earlier nights, he was paging through books from the library about the Institute itself, looking for some sort of map ("Surely if there are tunnels, it would be _documented_ somewhere," he said one night when Martin asked), but tonight, he seems to be looking at the research Sasha's been doing on Jonah Magnus and Jurgen Leitner. Martin thinks they were talking about it before Sasha left for the day. 

It's the odd sort of peaceful they've developed over the past month or so, that Martin is still at a loss to really understand, even if he can't bring himself to protest. (It's too lonely inside the Institute at night to complain.) Or at least it's peaceful until the worms show up, squirming in a small bunch at the foot of Jon's desk. Martin curses under his breath when he notices them, getting to his feet and going for the fire extinguisher. 

Jon even doesn't look up until Martin sets it off in a huge white gust, sending the worms shriveling at his feet. "More of them?" he says, clear disdain in his voice—disdain that Martin actually agrees with this time. 

"Looks like it," Martin says with a grimace. He tips over the wire waste paper basket and pushes the shriveled worm corpses into it with the toe of his shoe. 

Jon sighs deeply, running a hand over his face. "They seem to be showing up in greater numbers now. I'm thoroughly sick of the whole thing."

"You're certainly not alone in that," Martin mutters under his breath, pushing the bin upright. 

He turns back towards his desk, stifling a yawn with one hand, but is stopped by the sound of Jon's voice, rough with tiredness, behind him. "Martin… why haven't you tried to quit?"

Martin turns in surprise and finds Jon staring at him with some unreadable look on his face. "What?" he says, genuinely stunned by the question. "What are you—you aren't giving my review right _now_ , are you?"

"Wh—no, of course not, Martin. It's after hours, don't be ridiculous. I just…" Jon moves some papers aside, clears his throat awkwardly. "We don't know if you all are… trapped here, like I am. I talked to Tim and Sasha and they mentioned wanting to stay for their… own reasons, I suppose. But you've never said. And you're… you're the one sleeping here holding a corkscrew every night, you're the one killing worms a-and hiding from our apparent immortal boss every night, you… have the most reason to try and quit out of anyone. Why haven't you tried?"

Martin's throat is dry all over again. He clears his throat and says, "I… there's probably no use in it. I don't think we can, like you can't."

"But we don't know," Jon prods. "You haven't tried."

"I… I don't know why I haven't tried," says Martin. And he really doesn't. He had written a resignation letter or two in the weeks between his entrapment by Prentiss and the revelation of the tape, but he hadn't handed any of them in. He feels like a part of him might've felt like there wasn't any use in it. And since then, he isn't sure. "I guess it didn't feel right. If I was able to quit… I wouldn't want to leave you all hanging here." 

Jon's staring at Martin a little oddly now. "I wouldn't blame you if you quit, Martin," he says stiffly. "Nobody in their right mind would."

"No, I can _see_ that." Martin shifts uncomfortably, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I don't… do you _want_ me to quit, Jon?" 

"That isn't what I meant," Jon says immediately. 

Martin swallows uncomfortably. "Right," he says. "Well, I'm not planning on trying to quit at the moment." He's talked about it a bit with Sasha and Tim, and they've sort of agreed that whatever next step they take, they'll do it together. Since all of them are basically trapped here anyways. (They've all thrown out the mention of involving Jon in whatever unofficial pact thing they have going. Martin thinks that they should mention it to him soon.) 

"Right." Jon looks down at the papers on his desk, Sasha's looping handwriting that Martin can see from here. Martin sits down at his desk and picks up his book, flips through it. 

"You… I've noticed you read a lot of poetry, Martin," Jon adds suddenly, his tone somewhat strange. Martin can't read it. "Keats and things like that."

"Oh," says Martin, dumbfounded. "Yes, I like poetry. I… write poetry sometimes." He thinks of the notebook under his cot in the other room, the spine he had to tape together the other day because it ended up cracking. He doesn't mention the poetry a lot, to people; he doesn't know why he's mentioned it now. 

"That's… interesting," Jon says, still awkward, but not impolite. Martin offers a brief, small smile, and goes back to his book, and Jon does the same. 

Martin's the one who falls asleep on his desk that night, and it _is_ murder on his back. He wakes with his cheek stuck to the laminated book cover, the space around him blurry. It takes him a few moments to realize that someone has taken off his glasses (on the desk beside him), and unless Elias is creeping around the Institute at night, or the worms have grown sentient (both options make Martin shudder a little), then it must've been Jon. 

Jon is sleeping there, too—not at Sasha's desk, but on the second cot Martin knows he has stashed in his office. He can hear the even breathing through the crack in the door. 

The lighter delivered this morning is still on the edge of Sasha's desk, along with the scattered papers. Martin only stares at it a moment before pushing Jon's door quietly closed and going on to his own cot. 

\---

Tim and Sasha still talk about quitting sometimes. Or trying to quit, since they still don't know if they can. Sasha is leaning more towards the idea that they can't, simply because as much as she keeps thinking it would be a good idea _to_ quit, she can never quite bring herself to do it. But maybe that's more of a personal thing. A response to the tape that Gertrude apparently thought she might be leaving for _her._

(She knows that she would've made a good choice for Head Archivist—Tim has made sure she knows that if no one else has. But she never knew that Gertrude wanted her to be her replacement. She didn't really even think Gertrude _liked_ her all that much. She wonders if that's why she didn't get the job, because Elias knew and didn't trust Gertrude. She doesn't know why in the world, after hearing Gertrude's tape, a part of her is _still_ disappointed she didn't get it.)

Sasha has moved onto searching for more information from Gertrude. Aside from statement notes—of which they aren't many—there isn't much communication from Gertrude, and nothing as blatant as the tape. The way Sasha sees it, if Gertrude had left any more messages like this one—anything else she'd want them to know, but not Elias—she would've hidden it. The way she hid the tape. And if there is more information out there that can be useful, more information they could use to protect themselves, she thinks it's important to try and find it. 

So she starts spending a couple hours rummaging through old casefile boxes, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Tim and Martin will join her often, although Tim does so more frequently—Martin still seems absorbed in helping Jon search for the tunnels—and between the three of them, they're able to tackle quite a lot. They don't find anything, though, or at least they don't find anything _resembling_ a message from Gertrude. (Although they do find several fire extinguishers that Martin sheepishly admits to hiding in extra boxes.) If they've bypassed something, it means Gertrude has hidden it well. 

That's how they find the trapdoor, a couple weeks after the strange delivery of the table and the lighter. Sasha is sitting on the floor deep in the Archives with Tim, moving more and more boxes to the point where they can nearly see the wall. Tim is in the midst of a story from the work party she missed the other day in favor of research (in her defense, she tells Tim, Jon _also_ didn't go, and he screws up his face and tells her that's _hardly_ a good defense), when Sasha moves a large stack of dusty boxes, coughing in the resulting cloud of dust, and finds a door cut into the floor behind them. 

Sasha's mind goes immediately to the tunnels in the tape, the tunnels Jon has desperately been searching for over the past couple months, and she says, "Tim, come look at this. I think I found something."

Tim stops mid-sentence and shifts across the floor towards her. "Whatcha got, Sash?"

"Not a message," says Sasha. "But… look." She traces the crack in the floor, the small square door with the handle. She looks up at Tim, nearly nose to nose. "If this is what I think it is…"

Tim whistles lowly and pokes the handle. "Should we open it? D'you think it's locked?" 

"Maybe. I don't know. But I'd like to look." Sasha looks over her shoulder at the door and adds, "We should get Martin and Jon. They'll want to see this."

Within a few moments, the four of them are crowded around the door. Martin pokes it with the toe of his shoe experimentally. Jon stares at it incredulously before looking over at Sasha. "You said you found it behind those boxes?" he says, motioning wildly to the boxes in the corner. "Right there?" Sasha nods. Jon presses a hand to his hairline and murmurs something like, "All this time."

"Have you opened it yet?" Martin asks. 

Tim shakes his head. "Sasha wanted to wait for you guys. Appeal to your specific interests, I guess."

"Not _exactly_ ," Sasha says, bumping her shoulder against Tim's. "I just thought you'd want to be here."

"You were right," Jon says distractedly. "Thank you, Sasha." 

He crouches and tugs at the handle. It comes open easily—albeit with a bit of creaking—revealing a ladder into a dark sort of cavern, heading into the ground. A tunnel. "There they are," Tim says in a low voice.

Jon says, an edge of determination appearing in his voice, "Torches."

It takes a moment for Sasha's brain to connect, and beside her, Tim says, "What?"

"I'll need torches," says Jon, getting to his feet. "Martin, you keep one in the storage room, don't you?"

"Wh—Jon, you're not thinking of going _down_ there, are you?" Martin protests.

"Of course I am! Why else would I have spent so much time looking for them?" Jon shoots Martin a look. "Clearly there is something down there of importance if Jurgen Leitner—if Gertrude—the insinuation was that the tunnels offer some protection from Elias, based on what she said at the end."

"There was a lot more going on at the end of that tape," Tim says. "You going to destroy the Archives, boss? Burn 'em down? Ignition sources, right?"

Sasha squints down at the dark of the tunnels. "Do you really think that Elias might not be able to… See down there?" she asks tentatively. 

Jon chews his lower lip. "I think it's a decent theory," he says softly. "And I'd like to know what's down there." 

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," says Martin. "What if there's something dangerous down there?"

"This is the best way to find out," Jon says, a bit impatiently. "I'm going to get the torch, Martin. You should keep a lookout up here."

"I'll come along," Sasha says, almost without thinking. She can't take her eyes off of the hole, off the dark interior of the tunnel. "I've got another torch in my desk." 

"I… All right," Jon says. "We'll leave in a moment?"

"Sounds good," Sasha says. 

Tim goes with her to her desk, leans on the edge while she digs through her bottom drawer looking for her torch. "So you're going tunnel exploring, huh?" he says, good-naturedly, although Sasha can make out the edge of worry in his voice. "Want to confront the tunnel beast?"

"I guess so," Sasha says, smiling sideways at him. "I'll tell it hello for you."

"You do that," he says, and smiles back, but it's thinner than usual. He is worried. She can tell he's worried. 

She turns back to her desk. "I'd like to know what's down there," she says quietly. "Curiosity, you know? I want to know what's happening. There's still so much we don't know. And I think it will be easier to keep everyone safe if we know more about what's happening."

"You're right," says Tim. "I don't doubt that. And I know you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Sash—" She makes a face at him and he grins. "Just be careful down there, okay? I know I said Martin and I would take dramatic vengeance for you, and we _would_ , but that doesn't mean we _want_ to."

Sasha bites back a satisfied cheer when she finds the torch at the bottom of the drawer. "You won't have to," she says. "Gertrude went down there more than once, I'd guess, and she handled herself well."

"Until she disappeared, remember?"

She thumps him lightly on the arm. "Way to think on the positive side." 

Tim sticks out his tongue. Lowers his voice to add, "Keep an eye on Jon, too, would you? If he goes missing down there, Martin will cry for a month."

"Oh, you would be upset if something happened to him, too," Sasha says. Jon appears out of the storage room with Martin's torch in hand, and Sasha taps the top of Tim's hand as she straightens up. "I should get going. You standing guard with Martin?"

"You know it," says Tim, walking beside her back towards the trapdoor.

Jon insists on descending first. He won't hear any arguments to the contrary. Sasha just heads down after him, hand over hand down the short ladder. She waves a little at Martin and Tim, watching from the better-lit Archives, and turns to follow Jon into the corridor. 

Jon switches on his torch a few paces from the ladder, and Sasha follows suit. "It smells strange down here," Jon says stiffly, moving his torch across the wall to his left. 

"It does," Sasha says. What's the most shocking to her down here is the quiet. The Institute is always full of noise, between other employees and air systems and computers and tape recorders and evil worms. Down here, the only sounds she can hear are herself and Jon breathing. "Do you think we're underground?" she asks conversationally, moving her own torch beam over the floor. 

"I would assume so, although it's hard to be sure." Jon sighs, walking a bit quicker. "If our assumptions about Elias and the tunnels are correct… I wonder why he can't See down here."

"Maybe it's something to do with it _being_ underground," Sasha offers. "Or… I'm not sure. I don't know much about how this works."

"Me, either." Jon chuckles ruefully. "Of course, maybe we misinterpreted Gertrude and Leitner's conversation. Or maybe Gertrude was wrong entirely as to what Elias—Jonah—can or can't see. Maybe there's absolutely no protection for us down here."

A sudden chill travels up Sasha's spine, and she shivers. The temperature down here feels odd. "Maybe," she says softly. "It's unfortunate there's no way to test it."

"Yes, it certainly is," Jon mutters. "I don't know what… What is that?"

"What?" Sasha turns towards him, following his line of sight.

"I thought I saw something, something that looked like… Oh, _shit_." Jon jerks his torch, the beam landing on a swarm of squirming white worms. 

"Jesus," Sasha says, stepping back instinctively. "Are those…"

"Yes, I believe so," Jon says in a low voice. "And I think they're… _Jesus_ , Sasha, look." His hand is shaking around the torch. 

Sasha looks and sees the worms moving much closer. Moving _quicker_ than she's ever seen them, quicker than they do upstairs in the office. Sasha stumbles back a few steps, says, "Jon, I think we should…"

"Yes, I think that's—oh, look out!" Jon pulls her out of the way abruptly just as a worm fucking _jumps,_ into the air, straight at her head. 

Sasha curses under her breath, stumbling over her feet. She turns for the exit immediately, hand slipping on her own torch. Jon goes with her, moving nearly as quickly, both of them practically running back for the ladder and the light emanating from upstairs. Behind them is still silence. Sasha can't hear the worms. 

Martin helps them out of the hole, hands fumbling and lingering a bit too long on Jon's arms. "What _happened_?" Tim says incredulously, stepping back as Jon firmly pushes the trapdoor shut. "You weren't even down there for five minutes!"

"Worms," Sasha says grimly. "Faster worms."

" _Faster_?" says Martin, his face a little pale. 

"Faster," Jon confirms, straightening up and turning towards them. "As much as I'd like to map out what's down there… I don't think we should go down there until this… worm situation is done with." 

"Who knows when that will be," Tim mutters under his breath. "They've been here for months already. You'd think it's just a… permanent feature of the Archives."

"Let's hope not," Sasha says. She can see the unease on Martin's face, the panic; it's easy to forget that aside from being trapped in his flat for two weeks, Martin has been living in the Archives since then. And she's still a bit uneasy herself after seeing the worm jump at her face, can still feel the sharp pain of Michael removing the worm from her arm. She still has a scar from it. She doesn't know if any of them could stand this going on forever. 

"I'm sure it'll all work itself out soon," Jon says, but it's an absent reply. His eyes are looking past them, distracted. "I'm going to go… look at some things. All of you stay safe in the meantime." He pushes past Martin and Tim, headed for his office without looking back. 

"Well, Sasha, you were right. He was definitely interested," Tim says, his arm resting on her shoulder. Sasha leans into it without thinking, tired suddenly and ready to think about something else. 

"I feel like something's going to happen soon," Martin says suddenly. "With Prentiss. And the worms. I mean, it all has to come to a head at some point, right? And that… text that Prentiss sent Jon…" He swallows hard. "Maybe I'm crazy, I don't know. But there's been more and more worms every day, and I just get the feeling… that they'll come for us soon. Really come for us."

Sasha leans a little further into Tim and feels his arm settle around her shoulders. She determinedly doesn't think about that night years ago because it's Tim. It's just Tim. "I think that too, sometimes, Martin," she says quietly, because she does. It feels inevitable. The worms are here and they aren't leaving, and their boss is evil, and they're being watched. Gertrude warned that things would be coming for Jon—for all of them, really, because they're in this together, and have been since none of them tried to quit. So it does feel inevitable. It's only a matter of time. 

\---

Jon hasn't left the Institute in three days. Or maybe four. It's hard to be sure. He's been staying as often as he can without Martin pestering him about going home. (They bickered about it a couple days ago, in the break room, and Martin said that he would _love_ to sleep somewhere that wasn't the Archives, and Jon nearly offered to give Martin the keys to _his_ flat so he could go sleep there. As long as Martin wouldn't be here by himself.) He's gotten too paranoid to really leave, too worried about what Elias might do if he was to leave Martin or the Archives alone for too long. Maybe it's misplaced paranoia, but Jon hasn't been able to break away from it yet. 

It isn't too bad. He sleeps on the extra cot, or occasionally at his desk. He's slept a few times on the floor of Martin's storage room, which really does drive Martin crazy. If he doesn't sleep, he stays late. He hasn't been researching the tunnels since Sasha and Tim found them, but he's looked a little into the information on Magnus and Leitner that Sasha pulled. Dug around in the library on his own a bit. Sasha and Tim and Martin have apparently been searching for more information that Gertrude might have left behind, which has been unsuccessful so far. Jon isn't sure what they're looking for aside from anything _more_. Something that will explain more of what Gertrude left behind. The entities, the danger, their place in the Archives, any of it. He still feels often like he is still in the dark, like he doesn't know much at all. 

Anyways. It has been a while since Jon has left the Institute when it happens. It seems like a normal day—or as normal as things can be under the circumstances. He eats a quiet, awkward breakfast with Martin in the break room. Tim steps out for lunch. Jon records a statement about a pot and missing belongings. And at the end, he spots a spider crawling across the floor of the office. He goes to crush it and brings a shelf crashing down with it. Behind that is a hole in the wall. A hole that worms come oozing out of in numbers they haven't seen here before. 

Things dissolve into chaos quick. Worms are everywhere, all around the recorder, and they can't get the CO2 quick enough, and Jon can't get to the recorder. He ends up in the storage room with Martin and Sasha, the door pressed shut and sealed off, worms in his leg and a second recorder that Martin retrieves from under his cot. Sasha pulls the worms out with Martin's corkscrew, which hurts like hell, but Jon can't really complain, as the last thing he wants is to be taken over by supernatural worms. They're trapped there, surrounded by worms and Prentiss and all sorts of horrible things, and there's really nowhere they can go. But it is safe, for now. Jon should know; he's slept enough nights in here by accident, woken up to the sound of Martin softly snoring on the cot. 

Sasha asks him about the tape recorders, shooting a pointed look at the one sitting between them on the floor, and Jon struggles to find a way to explain the barrage of questions and uncertainty that's been plaguing him since he started, even with Gertrude's tape in the mix. He tells them he doesn't want to become a mystery. He says, "I don't… we still don't really know what happened to Gertrude. Elias told me she died in the line of duty, which I don't find surprising, but considering how suspicious she was of him… I can really only expect foul play. I don't want there to be any question when—if anything like this happens to me." He takes a shaky breath, bracing his hand over the wound left by the corkscrew, and adds, "And besides that… Gertrude left a warning for me, for all of us, and I… I feel like I should leave something similar. If anything happened to me and Elias brought someone else in, I'd want to be able to warn them in some way."

"Put them off somehow?" Sasha says quietly, although not without amusement. 

Jon laughs a little. "That would be the intention, yes."

"That's not a bad idea," Martin says, and when Jon looks towards him, he gives a little half-smile. Jon looks back down at his leg and tries not to wince at the blood on his fingers. 

Sasha and Martin get up to look out into the office, which is when they remember that Tim is still out at lunch. Of course, they can't call him because there is no signal in the storage room, so they have little choice but to sit and wait. It's excruciating, waiting with no way to warn Tim of what's happening, it's exactly the sort of thing Jon had wanted to avoid, and it only gets worse when Tim actually comes back. According to Martin and Sasha, he walks right into the office without noticing the worms, and as much as they pound and shout, Jon knows that they can't reach him. Frustration builds abruptly in his throat and he tries to get to his feet, only to fall back to the ground when he finds himself unsuccessful. "There's nothing we can do," he mutters, and hates himself for thinking it. 

A sudden determined light appears in Sasha's eyes, and she says, audibly, "Screw this." And then she reaches for the handle. 

"Sasha, _no,_ " Jon blurts with horror, but Sasha pushes the door open anyways and pushes her way out, shouting a warning to Tim. Her foot fumbles against the tape recorder as she goes. Jon curses as the door clicks shut, leaning against the cot and pulling himself halfway up in an attempt to reach for the recorder or to look out the window—he isn't sure which. "Martin. Martin, can you _see_ out there? What's happening?"

Martin is still pressed to the door, his breathing ragged with worry. He says, "She's getting his attention, she—okay, yes, she's got him."

"The worms?" Jon says impatiently, unbalanced, fumbling for the tape recorder. Pain shoots suddenly through his leg and he bites back another groan. 

"They're still _there._ I don't—I-I don't think the worms got them. I can't tell," Martin says. He's stepped away from the door and is leaning against the wall, a hand against his forehead, eyes shut. "Jesus _Christ_."

Jon finally manages to get the tape recorder and get it recording again after a couple of long fumbling tries. He asks Martin to describe what happened for the tape recorder, and he does so, if a little reluctantly—apparently Sasha tackled Tim and they both ran towards the hall. But they returned after a few minutes and headed for the office, back into the fray of the worms. "So they're dead," he says miserably. "They're dead in there, and they're covered in worms—"

"We don't _know_ that," Jon says, holding back a wince at the image. "They could have left and you didn't notice, they c-could have gone down into the tunnels…"

"Where there are _more worms_ ," says Martin, his voice a little hard. "That are apparently faster, and who knows what else is down there, and we can't count on _Elias_ to help us…"

"Tim and Sasha are resourceful," says Jon, ignoring the quiver of uncertainty in his own voice. "I… am sure they'll be fine."

"Yeah." Martin's looking at the ground, and after a beat, he moves to sit down near Jon, their knees nearly touching. He's not looking at Jon, so Jon looks away, too. At the small circular wound in his leg, at the floor that is fairly clean, something that Jon attributes to Martin having lived here for months. (He's seen Martin with a broom a few times.) He's trying not to think about Tim and Sasha—about what could be happening to them out there, about his utter fucking failure to protect them the way he'd intended—that he's almost relieved when Martin speaks again, saying, "Maybe—maybe they found the spare CO2." 

The conversation that follows is enough to take Jon's mind off the horrifying situation, at least for a few long moments. It's an excellent distraction, even if it gets a bit absurd at times. And Jon's a little surprised at the end that he's actually enjoyed it, even as they are ironically sitting and waiting to be eaten alive. 

That's all they can really do when the conversation dies off, is sit and wait. Neither of them are sure what's on the other side of it. But the distraction is nice and the silence is surprisingly nice as well. It's reminiscent of the nights they've accidentally spent together since all this started—just a peaceful silence. 

\---

Sasha isn't sure how, but she manages to cross the room and tackle Tim out of the way without being openly accosted by any worms. Prentiss is looming over him by the time she gets there, but she still manages to push him out of the way. They tumble to the floor together, and she seizes his hand as they scramble back to their feet. The recorder Jon left behind goes skittering off to the side. 

Tim tries to tell her to go get help, but Sasha only shakes her head and pulls him towards the hall, past a teetering worm-filled shelf. She doesn't let go of his hand until they reach the staircase, where there are only a few wriggling worms at their feet. "God, Tim," she says on an exhale, "are you okay?"

"Fine, just fine, thank you, Sasha—what the hell are we going to _do_?" Tim says in a rush, balling a hand into a fist at his hairline. "Jon and Martin…"

"They're trapped in the storage room," Sasha says. "We can't—we have to go back for them."

"Right." Tim exhales slowly, lowering his hand. "We—you go get help, Sash, and I'll go back and—"

"Help from _who_? We can't trust Elias; he'll probably just leave us down here to get eaten alive. And we can't bring anyone else down here…" Sasha's eyes dart around until they land on a fire alarm; she moves forward in a quick, fluid motion and pulls on it. "We've got to get the other employees out," she says. 

Tim nods. "So… what else can we do? Is there anyone we could… call?"

"I can't think of anyone," Sasha says frustratedly. "I think… we've got to go back for Martin and Jon. We've got to figure out a way to get back there… without getting _eaten_."

"What about the tunnels?" Tim offers. "I mean, we don't know much about them, but it might be a way to get around Prentiss… Of course, there's more worms down there, right? You saw them?"

"Yes, but we don't have another choice, I don't see how else… Wait. Martin… Martin hid extra fire extinguishers in those boxes." Sasha grabs Tim's arm with urgency, looking him straight in the eye. "We can get in there and get the extinguishers and then we can get down into the tunnels."

"It's fucking nuts," Tim says. "But… we don't have a choice, do we?"

Sasha wishes briefly, desperately, that they had a boss who _isn't_ an evil reincarnation of a 200-year-old man (who apparently wasn't the kindest person in the first place if the accounts she's found are to be believed). "No, we don't," she says, and seizes Tim's hand again. 

They shove their way back into the Archives and into the office, pushing the door shut against the outside onslaught of worms, and falling to their knees to retrieve the CO2 to defend themselves from the ones waiting inside. 

Things go a little fuzzy after that. A dim part of Sasha's brain tells her this is because of the prolonged exposure to CO2, but she can't exactly process that at the moment. She and Tim make it to the trapdoor and down into the tunnels. There are more worms, so they keep setting off the CO2. She isn't sure how long they spend wandering through the tunnels, but eventually they hit a spot with plasterboard over it and Martin's and Jon's voices behind it. "It's them, it's them," she says, and she's still got ahold of Tim's hand. Tim lets go to break through the wall. She thinks Jon and Martin are relieved to see them. 

Things just get fuzzier after that. They go back into the tunnels and it's all worms and CO2 and dim light and impossible passages. They have some trouble getting back to the trapdoor—everything is so confusing. Jon's leg is still messed up, and he's leaning a little on Tim. They lose Martin at one point. The worms are still all over the place.

Jon's dictating things into the recorder again when they find the trapdoor. Sasha doesn't disapprove. She's lightheaded and tired, and she doesn't want to die, but she wants someone to know what happened if she does die. She's a little afraid of dying, down here with the coworkers she's started to think of as friends. They have no idea what's waiting for them in the Archives but she's sure it isn't good. 

She and Tim gather beneath the trap door, hands on the bottom, and Sasha absently hopes it isn't locked before she pushes up. 

It isn't locked. But they aren't alone. The first thing they hear upon emerging is Prentiss's voice, intoning, "Archivist."

Sasha hears Jon say, distinctly, _Shit._ And after that, things go even blurrier. They get a whole lot harder to discern. The only thing she really remembers after that is the pain.

\---

Martin mentally berates himself from the moment he realizes he's lost the others to the moment he emerges from the trapdoor, guilt thick in his throat. He thought they were behind him, he didn't notice until it was too late, but he should have remembered Jon's leg, and Tim and Sasha are still loopy from the CO2, and he should've _known._ He should've thought before he ran. He tries to get back to them for several long moments, but the tunnels are too confusing, looping every which way, and the worms are everywhere, and he can't hear them anymore, and they don't answer when he calls. 

(Martin keeps returning to something Jon said in the storage room, the whole time he's trying to get out of the tunnels. He'd asked Jon why in the _world_ he'd spent weeks sleeping in the Archives—at his desk or on the floor half the time—and Jon had said it was because of the tape. Because of what Gertrude said about Elias, and because he was worried about the repercussions of leaving Martin alone in the Archives. He'd stayed to make sure Martin was safe. And Martin has turned around and left him behind not ten minutes later. Left all of them. It's hard not to feel guilty when that's the case. When he has no idea if they're hurt or dead… and he's just stuck wandering around the tunnels.)

He finds the body sometime after the scream, after the worms go still on the floor. He's not sure how long. (He wonders if the CO2 is getting to him, too.) He knows that Prentiss is dead, and he's wondering if that means Sasha and Tim and Jon are dead, and he turns a corner and pushes a door open, and there she is. Gertrude Robinson. Shot in the chest, surrounded by boxes of tapes. 

Martin takes a shaky step back. He can still hear Gertrude's voice in his head, from the times he's listened to the tape—it's never really left him, somehow. _If you’re listening to this, it means I’m dead,_ she'd said. Martin stares at the corpse, at the place where Gertrude's mouth is open, and a tiny part of his brain thinks firmly, _Elias._ Elias did this. He must have. And that's when he starts to run. 

He finds the trapdoor before long, after pushing his way through dozens of shriveled worm corpses, telling himself over and over again that Prentiss must be dead, and if Prentiss is dead, the others must be alive. (They _have_ to be alive.) Martin fumbles his way up the ladder, head spinning—the CO2, probably, probably—and before he's even pushed his way out of the trapdoor, he's blurting out, "Jon? Jon, there's a body. There's a—"

He stops mid-sentence when he pushes his way up and sees, instead of Jon or Tim or Sasha, Elias standing by the door. Behind him are people with masks and things, all sorts of equipment you'd expect to see with some sort of medical outbreak, and in the center of the floor of the Archives, among destroyed boxes and thousands of dead worms, is the corpse of Prentiss. Martin knows her. He's seen the image a dozen times in nightmares, when he closes his eyes. 

"Good lord, Martin, we were starting to get worried," says Elias, and he puts just enough worry into his tone that it _almost_ sounds authentic. Almost. 

Martin looks over the room again and again, and there's no sign of them, of Tim or Sasha or Jon… "Where are they?" he asks, his voice coming out high and desperate and worried. 

"Are you all right? What were you saying about a—"

"Where _are they_?" Martin asks again, harder this time. He's tense all over, he's ready to punch Elias or anything like that if he needs to, because he needs to know where they are—he needs to know what Elias has done to them. 

Elias gets a look on his face that is nearly amused. "Not to worry, Martin, they're all fine. They've got them out in quarantine to remove the worms and make sure nobody's turned into a… something like this." He motions to Prentiss' corpse. 

"You should be checked out, too, sir," says a woman behind Elias, crouching over some sort of corpse bag or something like that. 

"I'm _fine,_ " Martin snaps. Addressing Elias, he adds, "Where is that? Where is… quarantine?" He's not sure he can really believe Elias until he sees them whole and all right. 

"Outside the Institute. But, ah, I'm afraid you won't be able to see them until they're released. Quarantine and all that, you know."

"Right." _Convenient,_ Martin thinks, but he manages to keep himself from saying it out loud. Better to keep playing dumb, he thinks. "What _happened_?" he says suddenly, unable not to ask. 

Elias shrugs. "It seems one of you set off the fire alarm—smart thinking, by the way. Once everyone was evacuated, I was able to get a handle on the situation and figure out what was happening. I hadn't realized the seriousness of all of it before then, which you have my apologies for. I underestimated all of you. Anyways, once I figured out the issue, I set off the fire suppressant system. It's all CO2. It seems that killed Prentiss, who was in the midst of being confronted by the others. They're all fine, if injured a bit. I found them unconscious down here and called an ambulance." Elias offers Martin a look that he supposes is supposed to be reassuring. "It's all over now, Martin. The last step was locating you."

Martin exhales slowly, unsure of what to make of Elias's words, but figuring that Elias wouldn't lie about having murdered Jon and Sasha and Tim in front of all these strangers. "Right," he says gingerly. "I'm… going to get some fresh air."

He starts for the stairs only to be stopped by Elias outstretching a hand. "Just a moment, Martin," he says, perfectly polite. "You said something about a body?"

Martin swallows hard, his throat aching. "I… found a body," he says, thinking, _You killed her,_ thinking that maybe all these witnesses will prevent Elias from hiding it. "Down in the tunnels. Shot. I think it's Gertrude."

Elias is a good actor. His eyes widen in shock, his mouth hanging open, and it's a good act, it's convincing. "... My god," he says after a moment. "I—we found a lot of blood when she disappeared, but I never thought… that she'd be _here_."

"You never knew?" Martin says before he can stop himself. "You had no idea?"

Elias meets his gaze, and his eyes are hard now. Almost imperceptible, but the venom is there. "No, Martin. No idea. I wish I had." He exhales slowly, leaning forward. "You go on, Martin, get some air. I'll… I'll call the police."

That part is surprising—Martin didn't expect Elias to involve law enforcement—but he supposes there isn't much of a choice surrounded by police like this. He's sure Elias will find some way to cover it up. All that _really_ matters is that they know the truth—that he can tell the others, can tell Jon. He nods, and heads for the stairs once more. 

He manages to get most of the way up to the main level before breaking into a jog, worry still choking him a little, panic curling in his chest. (What if Elias was lying, what if something's changed since they took them outside?) The worry leaves, however, as soon as he pushes his way out of the building. There's a cluster of ambulances and tent-looking things outside, and paramedics everywhere. Martin can't see Tim. But sitting in chairs in the midst of all the clutter are Sasha and Jon. They're looking exhausted and ragged, bandages on their arms and legs and necks and faces—but they're alive. 

Sasha sees him first and waves him over, relief all over her face. Jon sees him next, looking up with weariness painted all over his face, and even though Martin's pretty sure they both should hate him by now, he smiles smally, shakily. 

After a slow beat, Jon actually smiles back. (Briefly, but it's there.)

\---

It's hours between waking up in the ambulance and when Jon's finally cleared to leave. First they have to get confirmation that he isn't full of worms, and then he has to get bandaged up. He finds Sasha in similar shape after he's cleared, sitting outside one of the ambulances. (His throat thickens immediately at the sight and he tries to apologize—says, "God, Sasha, I'm so—" before Sasha stops him. Tells him that it doesn't matter as long as everyone's alive.) Tim takes longer to get out, so they wait for him. There's no sign of Martin for a long time, and the annoyance Jon had felt when he disappeared in the tunnel gives way to worry—anything could have happened to him down in the tunnels before Prentiss died—until Martin reappears in the doorway of the Institute, looking frantic and relieved all at once. And then the police arrive. 

Apparently Martin found a body down in the tunnels. The body of Gertrude Robinson. The revelation stuns Jon, and he's desperate to know more about it, but he's unable to find out what Martin knows until after he's interviewed by an officer (Basira Hussain, he thinks her name is) thoroughly for information on the whole thing. He tells her he doesn't know anything about Gertrude. His initial instinct is to tell her his suspicions—that whatever happened to Gertrude, Elias is involved—but he finds himself unable to for some unknown reason. (Maybe out of a sense of caution. Not showing his hand too early. He doubts Elias is still ignorant of what they all know, but it feels safer to behave as if he does.) So all he says is that Elias probably knows more and they should question him if they really want information.

Sasha apparently has a similar experience in her discussion with another officer (who she refers to as Daisy something), but neither of them have much information until Martin is done with his interview. Jon makes him tell the story three times after that, and it doesn't give too much new information aside from the fact that Gertrude was shot three times in the chest. Which certainly seems to confirm Jon's suspicions: Gertrude was murdered. Maybe because of the tape, but there is no way to be sure. 

Martin seems to share Jon's suspicions about Elias. He tries to bring it up one time, says, "Jon, do you think that… it'd have to be Elias, wouldn—" Jon stops him there, murmuring, "Later." Elias is still hovering on the edge of things, talking to the police himself, and the last thing Jon wants to do is to play their hand too soon. He isn't sure how long it will be until they can get into the Archives again—Elias is already insisting they'll need to take time off—but he hopes that if he's interpreting Gertrude's tape correctly, that the tunnels will be somewhere they can talk without worrying about Elias. 

(Martin gets teary in the midst of his third recount and descends into apologies for leaving them down in the tunnels. "It's fine," Jon tells him, and is surprised to find that he actually means it. A part of him is still stuck in that storage room, talking with Martin on the floor. Bypassing the part where he asked Martin if he was a ghost, of course. It was… the most he's ever talked with Martin like that, despite having spent about a dozen nights sleeping ten feet away from him. It's strange. But Jon owes a lot to him. He found the tape. He helped search for the tunnels. He found Gertrude, even, just now. And so Jon means it when he says it's fine. He really does.)

Tim reappears after a while, looking as exhausted and rumpled and bandaged as the rest of them. He takes a turn hugging Sasha and Martin before he's called over to talk to the police, and the three of them sit and wait until he is done. They don't necessarily have to—Jon wants to wait and talk to Tim, but Sasha and Martin could go home. But they sit and wait anyways. 

Elias comes and pulls Jon aside after a moment, asks to speak to him alone. Jon can feel Sasha and Martin watching them as they step off to the side and tries to ignore it, hopes Elias doesn't notice it either. "Can I help you with anything, Elias?" he says tiredly.

"Just wanted to check in, make sure you were all right," says Elias. "You've all been through quite an ordeal. I'm sorry I couldn't help you sooner."

Jon bites the inside of his cheek to avoid saying something he'll regret. "You did what you could. Don't worry about it."

"Yes, well. I'd like all of you to take some time off. A couple weeks, at least, to recuperate. Tim and Sasha are in the same shape as you, and I'm sure Martin could use some time away from the Institute. How long has he been living here again?"

"I'm not sure. Several months," says Jon distractedly. "I agree, though. They should take off as much time as they need."

"You too, Jon. You need to go home and get some rest. You look like a mummy. Go home and stay away for a while, recuperate," Elias says, firm enough as to put off arguments. Or at least it would have been enough prior to finding the tape. Jon isn't sure what's enough now. 

He doesn't have the energy to argue now, and he _is_ exhausted, so he just says, "All right," and Elias nods encouragingly. Jon tries not to stare, tries not to wonder if Elias can see right through him. If they're just playing parts that they both know are inauthentic, if either of them are fooling the other. 

After a moment, Jon adds, "I expect the police will be looking into Gertrude's death."

"Yes, it would seem that way," says Elias, without a hint of guilt. If he's Gertrude's murderer—and Jon has no reason to believe otherwise—then he is certainly good at concealing his guilt. 

Jon tries once more, although he isn't sure what he's trying _for._ (For Elias to show his hand, play his bluff? For an actual admission of guilt? Maybe just to see what will _happen._ ) He says, "Do you have any idea who might have done it? If she was murdered, that is."

He watches Elias's face carefully, but nothing is visible there. All Elias says is, "No, Jon. I don't have any idea at all."

Jon sighs a little at that. Tim is joining Sasha and Martin by the chairs and he's tired of playing at this. "I should go now. I suppose I'll see you in a few days, Elias."

"A few weeks, perhaps. Take as much time as you need." Elias smiles easily, but there's something behind it. Jon, limping back towards the others, doesn't take the time to try and evaluate what. 

"What'd Creepy Boss Man want?" Tim asks when Jon approaches, knocking his knee against Sasha's. 

"Ordering us to take some time off," Jon says. "Couple weeks, he said."

"I have no problem with that," Martin mutters, and Sasha chuckles under her breath. 

"How are you feeling, Tim?" Jon asks next. "You were in there for quite a while."

"Yeah, I, uh—" Tim winces. "Made a joke about itching. They spent a while checking me out."

"Knew one of your jokes would backfire out you someday," Sasha says lightly.

Tim makes a face at her. "I'm… fine, I guess. Holes and blood and nightmares, huh? We'll have to start a club. Sorry to leave you out, Martin, but the initiation routine is _not_ fun." 

"Yes, well. Today was certainly an ordeal," says Jon. 

"You can say that again," Sasha murmurs. Martin and Tim nod in silent agreement. 

"I was wondering," Jon adds with trepidation, "if I could persuade you all to make statements about what happened today. For the… record, you know."

Tim and Sasha exchange heavy glances. Martin fidgets absently on the sidewalk, avoiding Jon's gaze. Jon isn't sure what they are thinking at the moment, but it's Sasha who ends up speaking for all of them. "Not here," she says, with a meaningful look towards Elias, talking to one of the ECDC officers. "We… can go back to my flat, if no one's opposed. I think we all could use a change of scenery."

Tim nods immediately, and after a moment, Martin does, too. "All right," Jon says, surprisingly unreluctant; he certainly sees the benefit of giving statements away from Elias. "I… thank you, Sasha. That sounds good."

\---

Sasha's place is nice. Jon has never been before, but Tim and Martin clearly have, because they seem much more comfortable than he does. Sasha offers her kitchen as a place for statements, and her shower as a place to clean up. They all take a turn with the recorder while the other three shower. Jon gives his statement last, sipping at a glass of water Martin retrieved from the sink, and half-whispering even though Sasha has left the door closed. (He isn't sure why his instinct is to try and keep them from hearing, aside from liking privacy. He thinks that it must be that. A part of him suggests at one point that maybe some of them are involved, or hiding something, and he immediately rejects that as a ridiculous thought. Gertrude warned against trusting _Elias_ , and that instinct has thus far proven to be a good one. Or if it's a misplaced instinct, Jon hasn't seen it—for all he knows, going to Elias for help only would've doomed them down there, fire suppressant system or not. But Tim and Sasha and Martin have given him no reason not to trust them so far. More than that, he wants to trust them. They're trapped here with him, as far as anyone can tell, and they're in danger because of him—the least he owes them is his trust.)

When Jon finishes, he expects to head home—his guess is that Tim and Martin have already left. But upon exiting the kitchen, he finds the three of them clustering in Sasha's living room: Tim and Sasha on one couch, Martin on another. Sasha's flipping through the news on the television; Jon catches a glimpse of the Institute and a headline that says something about an attack before she flips the channel again. Martin winces, ducking his head. Tim yawns hugely. 

"Hi, Jon," Sasha says when she sees him. "Go ahead and sit down if you want, we're just…"

"Talking," Tim finishes. "In theory, at least. We're all too tired to form much intelligent stuff." 

So Jon goes and sits, on the other end of the couch where Martin is sitting. He looks around the room a bit instinctively, and notices something that seems significant. Against one wall is a stack of framed photos, turned away from the room and pushed up against each other so the faces aren't visible. There are bare spots visible on the walls and tables. Removing eyes, Jon notes, the way they've all sort of done around the office, the way he's begun doing at his own flat. He's relieved to see it, the lack of symbolic eyes that Elias might be able to look out of. 

He sits and begins speaking, apologetically, almost immediately. "I wanted to apologize to all of you for what's happened today. I think it's… clear that Prentiss was looking for me, and I'm… very sorry all of you got in the way. And I wanted to say that if any of you want to attempt to quit—if you are able to quit, that is—I won't hold it against you."

"It wasn't your fault, Jon," Martin says, his voice firm. 

"I appreciate the reassurance, Martin, but it isn't necessary—"

"He's right, though," Sasha says, holding up a hand. "We all had the opportunity to try and quit months ago, when you showed us the tape, and we all chose to stay. This wasn't your fault. You don't need to apologize, either—you're as hole-y as we are."

Jon pulls at a bandage on his arm a bit sheepishly. "I—thank you," he says quietly. "And thank you for coming back for me and Martin. I… don't think we would've made it out of there without your help."

Sasha nods. Beside her, Tim shrugs. "Don't know if we should throw around blame," he says, "cause I think we all have different schools of thought on that. But we all got out, so there's that. Too bad the evil boss man wasn't able to be taken out in the midst of things." Martin gives him an odd look, Jon thinks, and Tim adds, "Not dead, maybe. At least… hospitalized. I don't know. Seems fucked up that we went through all that and only _one_ of our problems is taken care of."

"If Gertrude is to be believed, our problems are far from over," Jon murmurs. 

"I've thought of that," says Sasha, sitting up a bit straighter. "I've wondered… what's our next step, Jon? What do we do about all of this?"

Jon sighs, looking down at the floor. Sasha has a nice rug, sewn with patterns nearly as intricate as the table in Artifact Storage. "I… I suppose we take a few weeks off. Get some rest, recuperate. You all deserve it. And when we're ready… we get back to researching. Explore the tunnels, look for more on Gertrude and Leitner and the entities she mentioned on the tape… Martin, you said you found Gertrude surrounded by tapes?"

"Yes," says Martin. "But… I mean, I assume the police will confiscate those."

"I'd like to get my hands on those at some point," Jon says under his breath. "I think the more we can learn about Gertrude, the better. Especially if she's left us any more clues like the original tape."

"What about Elias?" Sasha asks, an edge of urgency in her voice. "Magnus, whatever he's called—what do we do about Elias?"

"I… I don't know." Jon sighs again, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes. "I suppose… if Gertrude was shot, it's likely she was murdered. And my assumption is that Elias was on the other side of the gun, especially if he had any inkling of how Gertrude felt about him or what she knew."

"That was my thought as well," says Sasha, and Tim murmurs his agreement. 

"Maybe we could find some sort of proof," Martin offers. "If we could prove that he murdered Gertrude, we could give it to the police… I-I don't know if it's absurd to try and get a clairvoyant reincarnated man arrested, but it's worth a try, right?"

Tim jabs a finger at Martin. "I like that idea," he says. "Seems practical. You know?"

"No," Sasha says. "But it's _not_ a bad idea, Martin. I… I'm not sure what else we could do in the meantime. We barely even know anything about him—I mean, other than what Wikipedia can tell us."

Jon isn't sure himself, but it certainly seems like a start. "We can figure out the specifics later," he says. 

"Right." Sasha pushes her glasses up and stifles a yawn. 

"Not that I'm against the suspicions of the evil boss," says Tim, "but… d'you think it's possible someone besides Elias could have done this? Sounds like Gertrude made a lot of enemies."

Martin shakes his head. "Doubt it," he says. "He's a good actor, but I… I-I could tell. He was hiding something."

"I suppose it's possible, but it seems like the likely scenario to me. Elias seems to have the means and knowledge necessary to carry it out. I could probably get a better handle on things when more information is available…" Jon sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "For the moment, it doesn't matter. We know we can't trust Elias. Nothing's happened today to convince me otherwise. And we know we can trust each other." 

The three of them meet his gaze, and Jon is almost stunned to realize that he means it. He supposes that one or all of them could be faking—could be good actors, could be working with Elias, manipulating things from behind the scenes—but he doesn't think that they are. He remembers Tim's initial upset at the revelation he might not be able to quit, Sasha's involved curiosity at the things in the tape, Martin bringing him the tape in the first place… Maybe it is all a trick, but Jon's instinct is that it's not. He feels he can trust them. They haven't yet given him a reason not to. 

Sasha is the first one to break the silence. She smiles a bit and says, "Yes, at least we have that."

They talk for a bit longer after that, but they're all exhausted, so it's mostly nonsense after a moment. Jon means to take a cab home (although Martin and Tim don't seem to be making any effort to leave), but time stretches on, and he ends up falling asleep against the arm of Sasha's couch. When he wakes up hours later, all three of them have also fallen asleep—Tim and Sasha tangled up on their couch, Martin leaning unconsciously towards Jon, their fingers nearly touching on one of the cushions. His hand is warm next to Jon's. Jon waits a moment before pulling away. 

Later, when he's home, Jon finds the tape where he's kept it, in the drawer of his bedside table underneath a packet of tissues. He's peeled off most of Gertrude's label in an attempt to hide it, but what's left reads _FOR_ and _ARCHIV_. Jon pushes at the edge of the peeling tape with his thumb before taking the tape and tucking it between the files in his briefcase. It feels smart to have it with him. Some sort of reminder of what's out there, what he's facing. What they're all facing. Who they can trust. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's withdrawn from all of them. That becomes clear after a few weeks of everyone being back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i did decide to continue this! i've got a tentative outline (and i only say tentative because i keep having new/alternate ideas pretty constantly) and a pretty solid plan for the rest of this. i doubt all of the chapters will be as long as one (partially because i wanted pt 1 to be able to stand alone if i couldn't muster up a continuation, so i didn't want to post in parts). but also things tend to get away from me a lot, so they might end up being kind of consistent in length.
> 
> warning for portrayal of an injury (as it corresponds to mag 47).

The month or so spent taking off from work after Prentiss’s attack is something close to excruciating. Martin is the only one still able to work, as he was the only one to avoid the worm-induced injuries, and he refuses to negotiate some sort of way for Jon to come back as well. Keeps saying that they're owed at least a month off to recuperate, and the injuries in Jon's leg only enforce that. Jon won't argue with Tim and Sasha taking further time off—lord knows they deserve it—but it seems inane for him to simply sit at home and do nothing, with everything they know, everything they still don't. He dislikes just sitting by while Elias is there at the Institute, doing god knows what. The longer he stays away, the better Martin's suggestion of trying to get Elias arrested for murder sounds. (Not to mention the habitual worry about Martin being alone in the Institute all day, with only a dozen clueless employees between him and Elias. The irony of the situation staying nearly the same despite Martin having _moved out_ of the Archives is not lost on Jon.) 

The month between Prentiss's attack and Martin finally agreeing that it's been long enough for Jon to come back to work is definitely torturous, but Jon is unable to stay away entirely. He sneaks back twice in the end, at nighttime, to continue exploring the tunnels. It wasn't difficult, with Martin not sleeping there any more; the biggest hindrance was the key Elias is apparently using on the trapdoor now that he's "aware" of the tunnels (Jon doesn't believe he didn't know earlier for a second), but Jon manages to get that from Elias's office without any trouble. (He's tempted not to bother with putting it back, as Elias probably knows he has it—Knows, he supposes—but that feels too much like tempting fate.) Still, Jon is able to go in twice, despite the lock and Martin's long-running residence that has just ended. (Martin got a new flat, he's said. He's been checking in every now and then, calling to ask how Jon's been healing—and the others, too—and emailing with updates from the Archives. Not because he thinks Jon should be working, but because he thought Jon would want to know.)

Jon feels strangely bad for hiding these ventures from Martin, even if it is the most logical decision. Martin would probably try to talk him out of going in, cite the injuries in his leg and throw him out again. Or worse, insist on coming with him. Not that Jon's completely opposed to Martin's help or company—that has changed over the past few months—but he doesn't want to put him in any more danger. Any of them. Not after Prentiss. He's fully aware that Sasha would be willing to go with him after she's finished recovering, might even be upset that he's kept these ventures from her, but he doesn't want to do that. If there is something dangerous in these tunnels, he won't expose his assistants to it. They've been through enough because of him—Tim and Sasha may even be trapped here because of him. And the last thing he wants to do is make things worse. 

So he goes alone. It might have been a bad idea, in the end, but Jon doesn't regret it. He gives a statement about it the first day official back, a record of his experience in the tunnels. It feels like the thing to do, to continue recording things—for his successor, if he has one; for Martin and Sasha and Tim, if anything happens to him. Maybe that's just playing into Elias's plan but he can't bring himself to care. It seems important to have a record of what's happened. Something to return to, something to map things out. 

It's been a full month by the time Jon returns. It's into September by then, and Sasha and Tim aren't back yet, but Jon's genuinely relieved to be back. It feels odd to be away from the Institute for some reason—something that seems to go beyond his own curiosity. It’s almost an uncomfortable relief to be back in his office, dictating things into a recorder again, and it's not a feeling Jon wants to dig into too heavily, if he's being honest. But it seems related to everything Gertrude said about being trapped, serving an entity. His connection to the Archives.

Martin seems relieved that he is back if nothing else, despite his repeated earlier insistence that Jon needed to heal. Has a jar of what is purportedly Jane Prentiss's ashes waiting on his desk and everything. (An odd welcome-back present, but Jon can’t really complain. The reassurance is nice, even if it might be a placebo.) 

"It's been quiet here, with everyone gone," Martin admits later, in the break room after Jon has recorded his own statement. He's making tea for himself, and holds up a mug questioningly towards Jon. Jon nods almost automatically. "Not that I minded too much, of course, considering everything that happened, you all needed time off, of course… but it was still pretty quiet. Eerie, you know?”

"I can imagine," Jon says quietly. Martin only took about a week off to recuperate, so he's been working alone here for three weeks since. "You… mentioned sorting through recorded statements, right? Trying to organize them? In your emails?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, I've been working on that a lot. I think I've managed to find a couple of distinct categories—although I could be wrong, or course. But I've got it all written down for you to look at." Martin passes him a steaming mug. "I've been taking statements, too, of course, as they've come in, but I didn't record any new ones… didn't want to step on your toes, obviously. And I've stayed away from the tunnels, but I did some more research about, you know… the things we were looking into before the attack." He's lowered his voice by the end, like he's trying to hide things from Elias. Jon isn't sure that will work, but he appreciates the effort. 

"Right. Uh, thank you, Martin," he says, taking a long swallow of his tea. Martin nods easily. Jon looks away, poking at the handle of the mug where a bit of paint has chipped off. "And there hasn't been anything unusual from… upstairs, has there?" he adds. 

"Oh, with Eli—uh, no, no, not really. He, er, there were questions about the progress of your recovery. And, uh—" Martin lowers his voice even further. "Something about using a key?"

A sudden shiver runs up Jon's spine, and he mentally questions whether this signals the end of his and Elias's play at ignorance. "W-what did he say, exactly?" he says in a rush. 

"He said if we had any interest in using the key, we should be sure to let him know beforehand… I-I wasn't sure what he was talking about, but I thought you might know," says Martin, his voice lilting up at the end like he's asking a question. 

Jon isn't sure whether to tell him. His instinct is no, on the basis that it goes against his principle of keeping his investigations quiet for their own protection, and that Martin will probably give him hell for going alone, but then he wonders if that goes against his decision to let everybody in on Gertrude's tape—a sort of unofficial vow to keep them in the loop, because they deserve that if nothing else. In the end, he says, "It's… a long story. I'll explain when Tim and Sasha return," thinking that if he's going to have to rehash this and get scolded by everyone, that it might as well happen all at once. He could always just play them the tape. 

Martin doesn't seem entirely happy with that but he doesn't argue. He takes a long sip from his mug, brow furrowed, and says quietly, "You haven't found anything new about that, have you? About Gertrude? Or… upstairs?"

"No, nothing new," Jon replies, although this isn't from lack of trying. "I've been trying to follow the investigation into Gertrude's murder, but I haven't heard any different."

"Police have been here. Don't think they've found anything yet." 

Jon can't tell from the look on Martin's face if he's tried to go through with his plan to implicate Elias or not. He doesn't press. He just takes a drink of his own and says, "Well. I hope they'll find something soon." 

"Yeah." Martin's looking down at his shoes when he says this, but directly after, he looks up abruptly and says, voice warm, "It's good to have you back, Jon." 

He leaves the break room after that. Jon hangs back for a moment, sitting at one of the little tables and finishing off the tea, waiting for the painful twinge in his leg to fade. (He's got a few months full of appointments with a physical therapist to look forward to as an aftermath of corkscrew-to-the-leg.) It's an odd companion to his disdain for Martin during their first few months in the Archives, but he finds himself almost _glad_ that Martin was the one to stay behind. That Martin is the one here now. 

He sits at the table for nearly twenty minutes in silence, and by five minutes in, he’s trying to shudder away the prickle on the back of his neck that he habitually felt any time he was recording alone in his office. The feeling of being watched is back; this is all but a confirmation. 

It's strange, now that he knows what it is, almost worse than it was before. Now that he _knows_ what is watching. And the longer the feeling goes on, the more Jon starts to question if it ever really left him in the first place. 

\---

Sasha's been doing research into the Millbank Prison, in her weeks off since the Prentiss attack. 

She'd call it a manner of idle curiosity, but it's not. It can't be. Not with how little they really know about the tunnels and why they're there, what lies inside them, why Elias might not be able to See them down there… The relation to the Millbank Prison has been stuck in her head since she first heard Tim say it, rattling around like a loose marble, and it won't let her alone, especially not in the quiet moments where she has nothing to do but watch daytime television. She wants to _know_ what's happening, wants to understand. 

It leads back to Gertrude and she won't pretend it doesn't; it's hard to shake the deep feeling of responsibility that comes with the knowledge that someone left a message for you, even if it wasn't really _for you_ in the end. Sasha is not the Archivist, but somebody wanted her to be. This would have been her responsibility if Elias had made a different decision. And Gertrude must have liked her, or at least respected her enough to want her to take over. It's enough to make Sasha revise her previous opinions of Gertrude, enough to make her feel almost protective. And there's no mystery behind who killed Gertrude, of course—almost certainly Elias, or Jonah Magnus—but the _why_ might still be a mystery. There are still so many mysteries to unravel. 

So Sasha researches. Searches through websites and PDFs with her laptop, ventures out to a library once or twice despite the odd looks that Sasha supposes has to do with all the bandages. (The doctor told her the worm wounds would permanently scar, so she thinks she's in for a lifetime of odd looks. Her and Tim, and Jon, too.) It's a good distraction. And if she knew enough about the Millbank Prison to answer a trivia question beforehand, she surely knows enough to fill a small book by the end of it. She keeps it all written down and recorded, to show everyone when they're all back at work. (She thinks about recording the research for a brief moment once, but it feels like a step too far. She isn't sure she's really ready to be recorded yet—she knows she never wants to listen to the tape of the attack, or the statements they gave Jon after.)

Tim tells her she's working too hard, that she shouldn't be working at _all._ "Come on, Sash, we're on _medical leave,_ " he tells her once over coffee at his kitchen table. "It's not exactly a holiday, but you still shouldn't be _working._ Even Jon said we shouldn't be working! _Jon_!"

"It's not _work_ ," Sasha says, although that might be a lie, or at least a pathetic excuse. "Not really. It's… you know, more than that."

"Sure, but it shouldn't take over your whole life," says Tim. 

He's smiling when he says it, but Sasha can tell he's genuinely worried, at least a little. She tries to lighten the mood, says, "C'mon, Timmy, don't tell me you aren't bored stiff with all this quarantine stuff," and pokes him with her foot. 

He grins at her, wider now. "Well, sure, but I'm not burying myself in piles of stuffy research, you utter _nerd_." And then he's off listing alternate activities, and she's joking right back, and the subject is well and changed for the moment. 

(She's beyond grateful for Tim through all this. She isn't sure she could've gotten through all this without him. They talk about every day, through text or something like that, and meet once or twice a week for movie night or something to that effect. Too hard to go out, so they stay in and flip TV channels and talk and sometimes fall asleep there. He's still there in all her nightmares, at her side in the tunnels, holding her hand.)

Sasha goes back the week after Jon does, but still a few days before Tim. The office has been cleaned out, all worms gone, but being back in the room where it happened is beyond jarring. Sasha looks too hard and she can still feel worms burrowing into her skin. It's a lot for a bit. But it's nice to see Martin and Jon again. Martin seems happy to see her, says the office has been too quiet without her. Jon seems distracted, favoring one leg over the other and lost in statements, but he seems happy enough; he's grateful for the research, has been doing some of his own, he says. He gets sort of an odd look on his face when Sasha mentions wanting to look around the tunnels again, but he won't say why. Just says, "It's a long story. It… maybe we should hold off on exploring down there for a bit. We want to make sure it's safe."

"Well, the worms are gone, right?" Sasha says lightly, but Jon doesn't relent. Says he wants to wait and discuss it when Tim gets back. So Sasha gives up, dives into researching the statement regarding some band called Grifter's Bone with Martin. 

It's a good distraction, but it's not quite enough. Her mind keeps returning to the tunnels, the corridors they'd wandered in a CO2-induced fog, the cavern she'd never seen but can picture based on Martin's description, the place where Gertrude's body is. It's too much to forget. She keeps returning to the few times she spoke to Gertrude: delivering files, discussing things in Artifact Storage, the like. She never fucking knew. She finds the trapdoor—hidden behind towering boxes again—and tugs, but the lock from before is performing its intended duty. She can't get it to budge. 

Jon's odd reaction to bringing up the tunnel becomes clear a few days later, when Tim returns. Jon explains things then. It's not as formal as when he played the Gertrude tape for all of them; he just stands out between their desks and tells them he's been into the tunnels twice now. Describes the discrepancies in worm corpses and the confirmation of the Millbank Prison tunnels and the voice that told him to leave. "I think something's down there," he says. "Something must be… living down there, I saw evidence…"

"Jon, you shouldn't have gone down there alone," Martin says abruptly, his neck a little red. "You could've… we would've…"

"I would have gone, Jon," says Sasha. Out of worry, of course, but also out of annoyance, perhaps. It's silly, it's not like she can't go down herself another time, but she wanted to know and she'd gone the first time. "When I got back, I could have…"

"I didn't see any reason to bother all of you with this," Jon says. "The last thing I wanted to do was disturb your medical leave, or to put any of you in danger again."

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Sasha says, almost automatically. She knew what she was signing up for when she agreed not to try and quit, and she knew that it wouldn’t necessarily be safe when she followed Jon into the tunnels the first time. Safety isn’t exactly the _point_ . Martin’s chiming in alongside her, saying, “That doesn’t mean that _you_ should walk into danger, especially not on _your_ medical leave…” 

“That’s—beside the point,” says Jon abruptly, holding up a hand as if to say _stop_ . “You all are my assistants, and I’m not going to—this is _hardly_ part of the job description.”

“Right, okay,” Tim says from between them, good-naturedly enough. “Thanks, Jon. Can’t say I mind dodging more spooky tunnel time.”

“Yes, well. I just wanted all of you aware of where I’d been and what I’d found. I’m not sure what significance any of it has, aside from the revelation that something is living down there, but I would think the tunnels are still unsafe.”

“We shouldn’t avoid them completely, though,” Sasha says pointedly. “Especially not if they provide a, you know, quiet place to talk.” She’s still not sure if they’re interpreting Leitner’s conversation with Gertrude correctly, in terms of whether or not Elias can’t see into the tunnels, but she figures it’s a lead they can’t not use. Talking in the tunnels seems infinitely safer than talking out here, even with all of the eye imagery removed from the office. 

Jon’s face shifts a bit in contemplation, and he nods. “Good point. I suppose the tunnels could be used for that, if necessary. But that should really only happen if all four of us are present, and if no one goes in too far."

This seems a little excessive to Sasha, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't want to start a fight on Tim's first day back, especially not a fight concerning something that Tim likely doesn't want much to do with. So she says nothing, chewing on one thumbnail, and that's more or less the end of it. She doesn't think any of them want to discuss the Elias issue outside of the tunnels, and Jon seems uninterested in discussing things further. 

It comes up later, incidentally, without Jon around at all. Sasha and Martin and Tim go out after work for the first time since the attack, and Tim is the one to bring it up. Asks Martin if there's been any process in his plan to try and get Elias arrested for Gertrude's murder. Martin sighs a little at that and says, "No, not really. I didn't want to come right out and say anything, but I've tried to hint around it a bit when the police come by. That scary Detective Tonner lady didn't seem to buy it. Kept glaring at me funny."

"That sounds right," says Sasha, thinking back to when Detective Tonner interviewed her after the attack. 

"Maybe I'm crazy, but the police almost seemed suspicious of _us_ ," says Martin. "They asked me a lot of questions. Especially about Jon."

"Makes sense. Jon does have the creepy vibes," Tim says false-solemnly, and ducks when Sasha tries to lightly swat him on the shoulder. " _Kidding._ Obviously I know he didn't murder Gertrude—tape freaked him out more than us. But you gotta admit he gives the creepy vibes."

"Not like Elias does," Martin says, voice low. Sasha nods in solidarity at that, and after a moment, Tim does, too. There's something they can all agree on. 

\---

Jon's been back a couple weeks when Basira Hussain comes to give a statement. He recognizes her from when she interviewed him following the Prentiss attack and the discovery of Gertrude's body—Martin says she's been back with her "scary partner" to investigate Gertrude's murder. Tim and Sasha hang around for a few minutes after Basira arrives, asking questions about the investigation (and Tim offering up some leading questions in an attempt to implicate Elias), but Basira seems somewhere between jittery and annoyed at this, so Jon shoos them away after a while. 

She gives her statement then, a bit reluctantly. Talks about Section 31 and Diego Molina and a strange suicide case. She stays for a moment to talk to Jon after, about the case and the tapes they found with Gertrude. She seems almost friendlier than the other live statement-givers Jon has encountered—probably because he doesn't poke holes in her stories, but that's beside the point. (Or maybe their personalities are just more compatible. Surprising, considering he and Melanie King apparently have Georgie in common, but true.) Basira actually seems interested in Jon's thoughts on the Gertrude case, which is a relief; Jon knows who killed Gertrude, of course, but he's interested in what the police think. And he has a greater interest in the tapes that Basira found. It's a welcome surprise when Basira actually agrees with his suggestion of letting him review some of the tapes. 

Sasha pulls them into the tunnels when Basira’s gone. (Jon took the key back and made a copy the night after Martin relayed Elias’s message. Elias probably saw that, but Jon can’t exactly bring himself to care. He’s not sacrificing access to the tunnels just to keep the peace with his evil fucking boss.) Going into the tunnels is an action which seems completely inane to Jon until one of them speaks, after the door is pulled shut and it’s just the four of them standing around a torch underneath the ladder. "How was the statement?" Tim asks then. "She say anything about the Gertrude investigation?"

"Yes, actually," says Jon, a little distractedly, eyes on the corridor behind them. He knows this is the safest place to talk, probably, without Elias overhearing, but he dislikes all of them being down here. He’s tensed up like something is going to come bursting out of the corridors, worms or worse. "She's working on it, I guess."

"Really?" Martin says, sounding interested. "Anything about, uh, Elias?"

"No, nothing like that." Jon clears his throat and looks back at them. "She's… I think she and her partner are alone on this, and a little swamped. I don't know if they suspect Elias. But I… suggested that she let us take a look at the tapes, the ones Martin found with Gertrude. I'm not sure what I expected her to say, but she actually agreed."

"That's great," Sasha says, maybe a little excitedly. "I mean, maybe there's something significant on there. Something like on the other tape."

"That'd be nice for sure," Tim mutters. "Little bit of guidance here and there."

"That's my hope," Jon murmurs. "She, uh, said it would be infrequent, so I doubt we'll get them all at once. But you all are welcome to review whatever she brings." He doesn't think he could get away with _not_ sharing. He supposes he'll have to hope none of them lead to a wild, dangerous goose chase.

"Definitely," says Sasha. "I'd… like to know. Whatever it is. It must have been important if she had them with her, right?"

"I'd think so," says Martin. 

“Maybe we’ll luck out and one of them will implicate Elias somehow,” says Tim. Off their looks, he adds, “It could happen, couldn’t it? If Gertrude recorded stuff nearly as much as Jon does, who knows what might be on those tapes?”

“Hopefully something useful,” Sasha says.

“And that’s not useful? I know I’d find it useful. Hey, do you guys think _Elias_ could quit? All I know is I don’t want to work for Creepy Boss anymore, I don’t care how he leaves, just as long as he _does_ leave.” 

“You want to drive him to quit?” Sasha says, sounding more amused than anything. 

“I don’t think that would work,” Martin offers, skeptically. 

“Of course it would. You can drive anyone to quit with enough annoyance…”

Jon lets them go on about this for a while without adding anything before he says, “We should probably get back to work now. Don’t want to make Elias suspicious—and I’m still trying to figure out if Martin’s organization system is going to work.” Martin looks a little embarrassed at that, which was not Jon’s intention; he mostly just wants them all out of the tunnels. But it works. Tim smirks and shrugs, and the three of them file back up into the office, and that’s more or less the end of things. 

Jon heads back to his office, and starts going through the list of categories that the others have been adding to again, in the interest of honesty. But it’s a distracted sort of work—he can’t shake the mounting questions in the back of his mind about the tapes, what Gertrude might have left behind and whether any of it will be useful. Whether it would answer anything about the tunnels, or the entities, or any of the million different things they don’t know the answer to. It’s hard to just sit by and wait for things like this; a part of him had wanted to trail behind Basira to the station and get the tape for himself, so as to not have to wait. He wants to go down into the tunnels again, but has been trying to hold off despite having been back for almost two weeks now; he’s not sure he can go down there without one of the others catching on, and he doesn’t want Martin or Sasha to insist on coming along. Not again. Once was bad enough. 

Basira brings the tape within the week, which is ultimately a relief, even if the tape itself is something of a disappointment. It seems, by all accounts, to be a normal statement, of an eerie circus in Russia in the 1950’s. Nothing of significance, aside from a clear connection to the statement about the calliope organ. Jon makes his own recording of the tape, for the record in case it proves to be important later, and passes the tape along to Sasha with a reminder not to keep it too long, so he can return it to Basira. He privately hopes that whichever tape she can give him next will be more relevant to the matters at hand.

\---

Tim doesn't think about the tape that policewoman brings much, at least not at first. He won't pretend he isn't interested in whatever is happening here—he can't not be, considering the fact that he's apparently trapped, and that they've all almost died, and that their boss is apparently evil. Considering Danny, the reason he came here in the first place. He can't say he isn't interested, but he knows he isn't as invested as Jon and Sasha and maybe even Martin are. He's not here for the mystery; he's here to get revenge for his brother, and to hope that all of them get out alive. That's about it. 

(If he's being fair, he's not sure _any_ of them jumped into this job with the intent to unravel a giant mystery, but who knows? He knows how Sasha and Martin ended up here, but not Jon. Maybe Jon always wanted to be Sherlock Holmes or some shit like that, and figured a giant spooky building would be close enough.)

Anyways. This general disinterest means that Tim doesn't seek out the Gertrude tape when Jon's done with it. It's not really part of his workload, which is deep enough between filing and investigating statements, and trying to figure out this new organization system Martin's developed over the past couple months. (The three of them have some impassioned debates over organization and what probably fits under one entity or not. Tim thinks that Gertrude Robinson could have, among other things, taken some time to elaborate on the fucking fear gods. At least point out what's what.) He doesn't think much about this decision, either. Figures by Jon's distracted but un-frantic demeanor when he hands it over that it can't be another wall tape. Jon would probably pull them all into the tunnels and make them listen again if it was really important. 

Sasha takes a listen though, takes the player into the storage room where the cot is and listens there. She's in and out within half an hour, and she's got a strange look on her face when she exits. "How was it?" Tim asks, only half paying attention. "Anything interesting? Let me guess: it wasn't helpful at _all_ , was it?"

Sasha stops at his desk, a strange look on her face, and says, "Tim, you should… probably listen to the tape. It's—it's nothing too serious, nothing like that, but… it's about the Circus. The Circus of the Other."

The words are enough to make the image rise abruptly in Tim's mind: the flyer, crumbling to ash in his hand. Danny. He swallows hard and stands. "Where is it?"

They listen in the storage room, where Sasha's left the tape player. Sasha listens again, even though she's just heard it, sitting beside him on the cot with their knees knocking together. It's an old statement, got sixty years or so on all of them, but Tim can't say it's not the same things that took Danny. Time doesn't work that way, not with things like this. The statement is a memory, a kid watching his brother walk across a tightrope in the strange circus, the Circus of the Other. Except this brother survives. This brother makes it out and lives for years and years after, like Danny never got the chance to.

Sasha's got ahold of Tim's hand by the time the tape clicks off, and she murmurs, "You okay?" when it's done. Tim guesses he is breathing a little weird. 

"Fine," he says, and tries for a smile, but it comes out wrong, he thinks. It feels strange, sitting here, hearing these words, looking for things that relate back to what happened to Danny, after almost four years of complacency. It feels strange to think about what's happened at _all_. "Just… strange to hear, you know?"

"Yeah," says Sasha, squeezing his hand before letting go. 

Tim looks back at the tape. "Guess there's not much here that's of use to me," he says. "Happened so long ago, y'know. And there's no names or anything besides the ones we already knew."

"Orsinov and Deniken, yeah."

"Right." Nothing about Grimaldi, but Tim doesn't know if that matters. "I guess I'd be more curious about why Gertrude had this tape with her when she died," he adds, maybe a little grimly. "I mean, was it a coincidence? Was anything that lady _did_ a coincidence?"

"Don't think so." Sasha half-smiles at him then, briefly. "I'm guessing it'd be significant, but I don't know how."

"Me either. Especially since the calliope statement was a dead end." Tim says it mostly as an idle observation, but once he brings it up, it's in the back of his mind again. He'd done a lot of research on the statement when it first came up. He'd slid in a sly reference about traveling circuses to Jon in some attempt to get them on the same page—even considered telling Jon everything, for a while. Before they heard the tape and things got crazy. (He's wondered if he should tell Jon since then, just so it's out there. No secrets, they're a team, all that corny bullshit. Despite it all, he still kind of considers Jon a friend. But it's never come up naturally, or he's never felt comfortable saying it out loud. Martin still doesn't know, either.) He did a lot of research, and hoped Jon would find something useful, and it never went anywhere, but they'd found the calliope, at least, in Artifact Storage. Where it probably still is now. 

"Right," Tim says, standing. "I'm going to go have another look at that calliope."

"Okay. Want me to come with?" Sasha asks, standing alongside him. 

"Sure. Artifact Storage is creepy enough without having to skulk around it on your own," says Tim. The joke falls flat, but Sasha smiles at it anyway. 

Artifact Storage remains creepy. The calliope is easy to find, considering it's one of the bigger things in the room. Giant red hulking thing, eerie as it sounds, and the inscription carved into the side is not helping. Tim hovers his fingers over the words without really touching them. There's no sound of music, only silence, and he shudders without really knowing why. This organ didn't kill Danny, but it might belong to whatever did. And it did kill someone. He remembers that part, too. 

He has to speak mainly just to hear the sound of his own voice. "Creepy thing. I'm not seeing anything new, though, or anything significant… what do you think?" Sasha doesn't say anything. "Sash?" Tim says, and turns around. She's still behind him, but she's not looking at the organ; she's standing by the table, the one with the hypnotic pattern. She's nearly leaned over it, staring, her eyes almost glassy. "Sasha!" he says, suddenly frantic for no real reason, and nudges her shoulder to break her out of it. 

She blinks a few times, shaking her head, and looks up at him after a moment. "Oh, sorry," she says, muzzily. "Sorry, I… it really does pull you in, you know?"

"Yeah," says Tim, breathing in abruptly. "Yeah, I know."

"The organ, um… I'm not sure. If there's anything different than what we noticed before. I mean… it's dangerous, I think." Sasha grits her teeth, shaking her head. "Everything here is."

"Yep," Tim says, maybe a little shortly—but he hates this room, and he hates the organ and the table and all of it, and he hates thinking about the things that killed his brother. "Let's get out of here, okay? I don't know why… there's nothing here. Nothing new, at least."

"We'll find something, Tim," Sasha says suddenly, her voice firm and strong, her hand on his shoulder. "Something concrete about the Circus, or why it does what it does… we'll find whatever did this to your brother. It won't all be dead ends from here, okay? We can keep looking, we could… talk to Jon and Martin, but… it won't all be dead ends. It _won't_."

Tim's throat is strangely thick. He rubs his eyes like he is crying, though he isn't, and says, "Thanks, Sash. And… thanks for showing me that tape."

"That's what I'm here for, right? I told you I'd help you. And I meant it, Tim. I did." She looks at him, her expression serious, and he knows that she really means it.

He isn't really sure what to say, so he just grabs her hand and squeezes it once before letting go. They leave Artifact Storage then—and good riddance, Tim can’t help but think—but they both look back before closing the door behind them. Tim’s looking at the calliope again, pushing back the automatic wave of hatred, so he sort of assumes that Sasha is, too. It’s only when he looks at her that she realizes she’s looking at the table instead. 

\---

Jon's withdrawn from all of them. That becomes clear after a few weeks of everyone being back. 

Martin thinks he's imagining it at first. After all, they're all busy trying to make up for the work lost while everyone was out, the things that were too much for Martin to do on his own, and then accounting for the new jobs of looking into Gertrude Robinson and trying to organize and categorize statements on top of that. Jon's still recording frequently, and looking for statements from that policewoman, and it wasn't abnormal before for Jon to disappear into work, especially after Martin found the tape. (And, well, it's not like they were really _friends_ before all this started, or like Jon even really liked him.) But the distance is _odd._ Even with Jon being fully absorbed in everything after they found the tape, he still checked in with them. Still exchanged words in the break room or asked them how investigations were going, still made small talk before retreating to his office, constantly checked in about whether or not Elias was bothering them. None of that's really happening now, aside from checking in about Elias on occasion; they barely even see him.

Martin might honestly be biased, considering that before the attack he wasn't leaving the Institute, and Jon stayed late or slept in his office most nights in the preceding weeks. They talked then, several times; it was a bit impossible not to. And, well, Martin isn't exactly expecting regular sleepovers, or more worm-style heart-to-hearts; he isn't naive. But the lack of _any_ interaction is odd. 

Martin would probably be less paranoid about the whole thing if Tim and Sasha didn't start noticing it, too. Start commenting on it sometimes during work, staring at the closed office door with something like confusion or irritation. Sasha brings up the point that Jon hasn't mentioned a thing about the tunnels in weeks, and has barely mentioned Gertrude or Elias to them at all. He still has them trying to categorize statements, but he isn't asking them about it or sharing any sort of discoveries. And if he's making any further efforts to investigate the things they don't know about—the so-called fears, or the rituals, or the tunnels, or any of it—he isn't bringing it up. The most they’ve talked about the big picture with Jon—about trying to figure out more about Gertrude or the entities she mentioned, or trying to get away from Elias—is the time he mentions Basira bringing tapes, and then again about a week later when they notice the evidence of someone having entered the tunnels. 

Sasha actually found it, found the trapdoor unlocked, and pulls Jon into the office to ask if he'd gone down there again. Jon claims to have only gone once more, and that he’s sure he locked the door, and everyone’s confusion seems to ward off any irritation from the rest of them. The general consensus seems to be that someone else has been down in the tunnels. “You don’t think it’d be Elias, do you?” Martin asks at one point. “I mean, if he can’t See down in the tunnels…”

“That was never confirmed, remember?” Tim says, with maybe an edge of annoyance in his voice. “That was just our guess.”

“Something is living down there, remember?” Jon points out absently, poking at the lock. “I found evidence when I went down there.”

“Maybe,” Tim says. “Maybe evidence. I mean, can we even be sure?”

“Gertrude told Jurgen Leitner to stay in the tunnels. In the tapes, I mean,” Martin says. 

Sasha looks up at him abruptly, and he can tell by the look on her face that she’s thinking something similar. “You think that might be him down there? In the tunnels?” she asks. Martin shrugs, sort of half-nods.

“Except that I find it unlikely that whatever is down there could have been the one leaving, considering that the door was locked from the outside,” Jon says, tone tinged with annoyance as he pokes the lock with the toe of one shoe. 

“But we’ve established it _can’t_ be Elias,” Sasha says.

“ _Maybe_ can’t,” Tim adds, leaning against one of the sturdier-looking shelves. “Maybe.”

“It doesn’t matter. For now, it doesn’t matter,” Jon says abruptly, straightening up and turning back towards his office. “We could put some sort of camera out to be certain, but we won’t figure anything out this way. For now, I’d prefer it if all of you stayed out of the tunnels completely, unless we need to meet there for some reason. For safety purposes.”

“That seems a little excessive.” Sasha sounds mostly normal, except for the slight undercurrent of annoyance in her tone. “I’ve already mentioned I’d like to look around, and if we go in pairs, it doesn’t seem as bad.”

“We still don’t know what’s down there, or what it might want with us.”

“If it is Jurgen Leitner, then I don’t really think we’d have much trouble,” Sasha says. “He helped Gertrude. And if we shouldn’t go down there on our own, then you shouldn’t go down on your own, either.” She shoots a look at Martin, who’s all too happy to chime in with, “If it’s not safe for us, then it’s not safe for you, either…” 

“It’s… a different situation. And I don’t know about all of you, but I’m not ready to leap into trusting Jurgen Leitner, affiliation with Gertrude or not. IF he’s even down there.” Jon’s voice has an edge of annoyance, too, one that Martin hasn’t heard since before they found the tape. “I would just prefer it if you left the tunnel exploring to me. And I’ve got to get back to work.” He leaves then, going out of the storage room and through the main office; they can all hear the click of his office door behind him. 

Tim grimaces and says to Martin, “Well, you were right. He’s definitely pulling away. And being an ass about it, too.”

“I think he’s got noble intentions or something,” Sasha says irritably, shoving her glasses up, “but that doesn’t mean I _like_ it. I’ve been doing all this research into the tunnels and the prison and Magnus and all of it, but I don’t get to see any of the end result? And we’ve told him about a million times that we understand the risks of doing this.”

“You think we can snap him out of it somehow?” Martin says quietly, a little embarrassed. It’s probably silly, but admittedly, he’s not very keen on Jon rattling around the tunnels by himself. If it’s dangerous for them, it’s definitely dangerous for him, and it might even be worse for him—Gertrude said he would always be in danger, Jane Prentiss warned him of a crimson fate. Of course he’s nervous at the prospect of Jon doing any of this alone. And besides that… it’s even sillier, but Martin sort of hates the idea of Jon pulling away after everything. The month he spent alone in the Archives was incredibly lonely. And he’s got Sasha and Tim back, which is great, but a part of him… a part of him misses the long nights in the Archives where it felt like he and Jon were actually talking. The times when the four of them were all together on these sorts of things. The moments where it wouldn’t have felt too strange calling Jon a friend. It’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t want to _lose_ that. 

“Maybe,” Sasha says, her mouth twisting oddly.

“But maybe not,” Tim adds grimly. “It is Jon. He’s very stubborn when he wants to be.” And Martin does have to agree with that one.

From there, the environment in the Archives grows a little tense, with Jon still pulling away, and Sasha and Tim annoyed with him. Not outright mad, but certainly annoyed. (And sometimes Martin thinks he might be a little annoyed, himself.) The environment is odd for at least a week, until things come to a head on a relatively un-tensioned day, when a woman comes in to give a live statement. 

This isn’t altogether unusual, and since Jon records in his office, none of them think much of it. At least not until Jon calls Sasha into his office. She’s only gone a few minutes, but Martin and Tim spend the whole time sort of staring at the door and waiting to hear what it’s all about. Tim makes a joke about putting his ear to the door and listening. Martin figures it has something to do with the statement, but Jon will usually discuss that with all of them. A part of him wonders if it has anything to do with exploring the tunnels again. 

When Sasha comes out, shutting the door behind her, and they look at her expectantly, she shrugs. “I guess that woman encountered Michael.”

“Michael? Your Michael?” Tim asks, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “The creepy man who took the worm out of your shoulder?”

“Yes.” Sasha sits heavily, pulling off her glasses to rub at her eyes. “Apparently he conjured up some door that wasn’t supposed to be there, and trapped her for three days.”

Tim winces at that. “I suppose you got off lucky, then.”

“Looks like it. Jon asked if I might know anything about what happened there, but I wouldn’t know where to begin. Michael may have wanted to be my friend, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be his.”

“Course not. You deserve better friends than that.”

Martin, for some reason, has been unable to take his eyes off of Jon’s door. Some strange compulsion, he guesses, and he looks away. “Did he say anything else?” 

“No, not really. He kind of insinuated he wanted me to investigate, but he kind of seemed like he was reconsidering by the end? Anyways.” Sasha sighs, leaning back in her chair. “Not that I mind the concern, not really, but all this protectiveness is getting on my nerves.”

“Maybe it’s not a displaced concern,” Martin says, who had seen the bloody wound on Sasha’s shoulder after her altercation with Michael, jammed paper towels against it to stop the bleeding while they waited for Jon and Tim to show up. “He doesn’t seem like the trustworthy sort.”

“Not you, too,” Sasha groans, but she shoots a small grin at him. “I’m sure we can work together for all the investigating fun, okay?”

“Long as it doesn’t involve more stapling,” Tim says. Sasha sticks out her tongue at him. 

They go back to their work after that, aside from a few more tossed-around jokes between Tim and Sasha, until Jon emerges a few minutes later and heads for the stairs. It’s a bit abrupt, considering it’s the middle of the morning, and that Jon is in such a rush; all three of them look up as he passes. “Everything okay, Jon?” Sasha asks, amicably enough.

“Ah—yes,” Jon says, his tone coming out a little strained. He’s wearing his coat, and he’s got it bunched up a little strangely on his side, his hand clutching at it. “Just fine. I’ve… got a lead I need to follow.”

“You look awful,” Tim says, and Jon says again, shorter this time, “I’m _fine_.”

Martin’s got his eyes fixed on Jon’s hand on his side, and it keeps looking wrong the harder he stares. Jon’s hand is pressed there too hard for it to be casual; it’s almost reminding him of when Sasha’s shoulder was slashed, trying to keep pressure on it. Under the fluorescent lights, something dark and liquid seems to glean on the coat fabric and on Jon’s fingers—and when Martin squints a little harder, he sees that it’s _red_ . He stands up too quickly, blurting, “Jon, are you _bleeding_?” 

Panic shoots across Jon’s face, and he takes another step towards the stairs, only to stop at the surprised exclamations from Sasha and Tim. Turning back towards them gingerly, he says, “I—had an accident with the bread knife. It slipped…”

“Oh, that's a bullshit excuse," Tim says, all of them on their feet and heading over before Jon can leave again.

Martin's the first to get to Jon, muttering, "Let me _see_ ," and tries to pull his hand away. After a minute, Jon lets him, pulls away his coat. It's bloodier underneath there, but Martin can't really see the wound, or tell if it's superficial or not. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, hands hanging uselessly in the space between them from where Jon pulled his own hand back. 

"I'll call 999," Sasha says, pulling her phone out. 

"No, you don't need to—it isn't _that_ bad. I can get myself to the hospital," Jon says, a bit tensely. "It didn't go in that deep. I felt it."

"I'll call a taxi, then," Sasha says, her voice so firm that Jon doesn't argue. 

Martin leaves briefly, running into the breakroom and retrieving one of the towels before coming back and handing it to Jon. He's talking to Tim and Sasha, saying, "You really don't have to come with me. I'm really fine…"

"You idiot, of course we're coming with," Tim says, rolling his eyes towards Martin, who is grateful for the voicing of this opinion. He's not sure he can say much right now. His heart is going too fast, and he's got both hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep from touching Jon too much. It feels like he's been thrown back into that moment where he came out of the trapdoor to find Jon and Tim and Sasha gone and thought, briefly, that they were dead. (Not that he thinks Jon is going to die, but. He can still see blood all over Jon’s palm, a little bit smudged on his own fingertips from where he pulled his hands back, and he keeps thinking that he can’t believe he let this happen. He didn’t _know_ , of course, but he was just sitting here on the other side of a fucking door and he had no idea. He clenches his hands into fists in his pockets.)

The four of them get upstairs, somehow, and out front to wait for the cab, with Sasha offering quick explanations to a horrified Rosie. Jon seems a bit woozier by the time they get to the top, leaning on Tim and Martin in turn. When they're all out there and somewhat settled on the stone steps, Tim asks again, gentler this time, "What _happened_?"

"Don't give us anything about a bread knife, either, we know that's horse shit," Martin adds, maybe nervously, maybe panicked. Jon's still slumped on him, even with a bit of space between them, sweat on his forehead, warm at Martin's side. Martin puts a hand against Jon's elbow in some attempt to steady him. 

"It… it was an accident," Jon says again, stubbornly. "It doesn't matter. You shouldn't worry about it."

"Jon, come on," Tim says, but Sasha sits up straighter in interruption. She's got a strange look on her face, one hand on her shoulder. The shoulder that Michael cut, Martin realizes. "Jon…" she says tentatively. "Did… Michael stab you?"

The look of worried guilt on Jon's face gives it away. Sasha slumps back against the stairs and hisses, " _Shit,_ " under her breath. "I didn't think he would… goddamnit. All that shit about saving all of you if I met him…"

"He can come into the _Archives_ ?" Martin says, voice rising high in panic. It's probably a stupid thing to be _surprised_ about, considering Prentiss and her attack, but he still didn't _expect_ that. 

"He came to collect what's his," Jon slurs, an edge of almost dark amusement in his voice, still wavering and woozy. 

"Jesus Christ," Tim says, looking over at Sasha now with fear in his eyes. "I… do you think we're safe, Sash?"

Sasha looks between them, her own eyes wide. "I don't know," she says gingerly. "I can't be certain, but… I don't know."

The cab arrives then, pulling up to the curb, and the three of them help Jon up and climb into the backseat. 

\---

It takes forever for Jon to be finished, between waiting in the waiting room and being stitched up in the back, but finally a nurse comes out to tell them Jon's ready to go home and that one of them should go get him. Tim and Sasha wait in the waiting room—Tim flipping through magazines with his shoulder against Sasha's, Sasha scribbling on the back of a turn-out advert with a loose pen like she's deep in thought—while Martin goes to check on Jon. "Good as new," the nurse tells him, her tone removed a bit from cheerful—Jon's bread knife excuse is weak, although maybe it will work better on the doctors than on them. But then again, maybe not.

Martin finds him sitting on the examining table, fidgeting with the side that must be stitched and bandaged now. He's wearing the same blood-splotched jumper as before, and the sight makes Martin's stomach irrationally turn. He has to take a moment to remind himself that Jon's fine, perfectly all right. 

Jon doesn't notice him in the doorway until Martin clears his throat and says, "Feeling any better?" He jolts a little then, before looking over to the door and seeing Martin there. (Maybe Martin imagines it, but he thinks Jon actually relaxes a little when their eyes meet.) 

"Oh," he says softly in response. "Hello, Martin."

"Hello." Martin swallows roughly. "They've got you sorted out?" he adds. 

"I suppose so." Jon sighs, looking down at his feet, but he doesn't make any move to get off the table. 

Martin takes a few tentative steps into the room, but Jon doesn't say anything. Doesn't look up, either. The only sounds are voices on the other side of the door, footsteps. They stand there in silence for a few long beats before Jon speaks, without ever looking up. "Martin, do you remember the woman who came into my office to give a statement today?" he says, voice low. 

Martin blinks in surprise—in all the chaos, he'd actually forgotten. "Y-yes, I remember. Helen Richardson, right?"

Jon doesn't offer any confirmation, nor does he look up. When he speaks again, his voice is trembling. "D-did you ever see her leave?"

Martin's eyes widen at the revelation, and he halfway blurts out, "N-no, no, I… I guess I… didn't. I… Jon?" 

Jon's got his arms wrapped around himself now, looking almost small on the table. He's shaking his head a little. He mutters something about there only being one door. "Jon, what is it? What happened?" Martin prods a little, pulse rising. 

"There was—Helen Richardson found a door that shouldn't have been there. That was what her statement was about. She—she met Michael," says Jon, and his voice breaks a little at the end. 

Martin takes a step closer, another step, unsure of what else to do. Lifts a hand like he's going to try and comfort Jon, then lowers it. Jon still isn't looking at him. "Th-the Michael that… did this?" he half-stammers, gesturing at Jon's bandaged side. 

Jon nods tightly. "He… took her back," he says, rough. "Through a door that wasn't there."

"What? I—Jon, what are you talking about?" 

Jon clears his throat and finally looks up at Martin. His eyes are rimmed red behind smudged glasses. "He took her back," he says. "The door is his—he's part of the door. And he made a door in the Archives and he took Helen Richardson back. There's no getting her back now."

Jesus Christ. Martin can really remember Helen Richardson now that he thinks about it—Tim showed her down. She seemed frantic and frightened, distracted by something, so Jon had suggested Martin make her tea. She'd thanked him when he brought it, distractedly. She seemed nice behind the fear, as scared as everyone who came in to give live statements. They didn't help people aside from giving them an avenue to talk about what happened, and a little cursory investigation—that was something that was always poking around in the back of Martin's mind—and Helen Richardson wouldn't be the first person to die who gave a statement. But she was possibly the first one to die in the Institute like _this_ —he heard something about an old vampire hunter dying after giving a statement, but that's _different_ , that's not a monster coming into the Archives and stealing someone away, and the thought is nearly unbearable. 

Jon's still staring at him. Martin shakes his head a little and says, "It's not—you _can't_ blame yourself, Jon. It wasn't your fault."

"What good," Jon says tremblingly, "is knowing all that we know if I can't _do_ anything about it? What was the point of that fucking tape—of being _warned_ , of Gertrude leaving behind something so I wouldn't have to figure all this out on my own—if I can't _help_ anyone? If I'm still just running around blindly and uselessly and I just stand by and let people get _hurt_?"

"You're not just standing by, though. Jon, you clearly tried to stand up to him, and you got _stabbed_ in the process!"

"I should have paid more attention, Martin. I should have been more aware—after everything that's happened over the past few months to you, and to Sasha and Tim, I should have been _aware_ of what was happening," Jon snaps. 

He gets to his feet then, hand to his bandaged side, and heads for the door. Martin's hand shoots out in front of him, in an attempt to stop him, mid-step. "None of that was your _fault_ ," he says, firmer this time. "None of it. You couldn't have stopped Prentiss, or Michael, or any of that—none of us knew what was happening! And we don't _blame_ you—"

Jon laughs, a little bitterly. "Right. That's why Tim keeps shooting me disapproving looks, and Sasha's been short with me for a week and a half now."

"We're worried about you," says Martin. He isn't actually sure if Tim blames Jon, but he's sure Sasha doesn't—and he doesn't think _any_ of the three of them _resent_ Jon. "We want to help you with all of this, Jon—you shouldn't have to do this alone…" 

"And all of you shouldn't have to suffer because of this! For God's sake, Martin, I've already trapped you all here with me—"

Jon's cut off mid-sentence by a tapping on the door frame. "Martin?" Sasha asks, poking her head in. "Jon? Everything all right?"

Jon sighs, heavily. "Just fine, Sasha. We should—we should go now. I'm exhausted."

"Um, sure," Sasha says, looking over at Martin. Martin honestly isn't sure what to say, so he says nothing. He just follows them out, halfway listening to Sasha ask how Jon is feeling and Jon answer, voice stilted. One of the theories about why Jon is pulling back from everyone has basically been confirmed, at least as far as Martin can see. And the reality of it leaves him feeling more than a little uneasy. 

(It just seems to him that they're safer as a unit, if they stick together. And he really just wants everyone to be safe.)

It's only three in the afternoon, so they take a cab back to the Institute. They talk Jon into going home for the rest of the day, and at least tomorrow, too. He clearly doesn't want to, but he agrees. "Get some rest," Martin tells Jon before he leaves, firmly because he doesn't know how else to do it. Jon still looks horrible, eyes still red and face rubbed raw, still looking sort of sick (which makes sense, considering that he got _stabbed_ ). "And don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

"Seriously, Jon. You deserve it," Tim adds, and Sasha nods her agreement. 

Jon doesn't look like he agrees; he's clenching his jaw and staring at them skeptically. But he nods. And he says, before he goes, "Thank you all. For… taking me to A&E. Thank you."

"Feel better, okay?" says Sasha. "And let us know if… you don't think Michael would come back, do you? He didn't really… seek me out after I met him, but he didn't… stab me either."

Jon halfway grimaces. "I hope not."

Martin hadn't thought about Michael coming back, and it halfway makes him want to insist on going back with Jon. (Or offering up the cot in the storage room, but that place is plenty depressing.) But it's not like Jon's necessarily going to be any safer with them than alone. He got stabbed when they were sitting twenty feet away on the other side of a door. 

Jon goes home, and Martin sits at his desk for the next hour and a half ("Why stay til five when the boss is injured?" Tim says) and tries not to worry. Before he leaves, he goes into Jon's office and walks around it three times, looking for a door that shouldn't be there. (He's not going to go _inside_ , he just… wants to see it. Wants to know why there's no proof of a woman disappearing, or maybe dying, in Jon's office this morning.) 

But nothing's there, nothing strange, no extra door. There's only the one door out of Jon's office, and there always has been. 

\---

Jon stays away for the rest of the day, and most of the next day. Sasha and Martin both text him in an attempt to get him to stay away longer, but he doesn't see the point. Sitting on his couch isn't going to help him heal any faster, and he doesn't think he could stay away even if he wanted to. Everything with Gertrude and Elias and the tunnels is weighing too heavily on his mind, not to mention everything with Helen Richardson and Micheal and all of it. And he doesn't like leaving the others alone still, even if there's no real guarantee that they'll be safe. That was the first thing Michael said when he appeared in the room—came out of the fucking walls, or whatever, just after Sasha left. He asked if Jon could really keep them safe. Pointed out that it was _his_ intervention that saved Sasha from becoming a flesh hive, and not Jon's. Like he'd been able to look right into Jon's head to see what was worrying him most. 

Jon hasn't been able to forget Helen Richardson. How she walked into Michael's trap and he didn't even see. How he couldn't save her, either. How easily that could be Martin or Tim or Sasha, or anyone at the Institute. Any statement giver, anyone who comes in to give live statements. Anyone these entities feed on. What happened to Naomi Herne, or Melanie King, or Lionel Elliot? What could happen to Basira Hussain? There's no way to tell. 

And he should have been able to do something. He should have been able to help. He has a warning, he knows who to trust and who not to, and he still can't help anyone. He let Helen Richardson walk through that door. And he can only see things getting worse from here—more people getting hurt, more things attacking, more people he can’t save. How many people is he going to lose before this is all over? How can it end aside from all of them dying—is there even another option?

So Jon stays home for most of the next day, and then he goes back to the Institute. Not to the Archives—he doesn't want to cause Martin to nag, and he doesn’t really need to go down there anyway. He needs to talk to Elias—he needs to talk to Jonah Magnus. 

Elias doesn't look up when Jon enters. Probably doesn't need to. "Oh, Jon," he says, voice light. "Come in. I'd thought you would take some more time off."

Jon doesn't come in, at least not far. He steps into the door and shuts it behind him, and that's as far as he goes. "Could you have saved Helen Richardson?" he snaps, and the anger is back in his throat like hot lava. 

Elias looks up then, setting his pen down on the desk. He looks unconcerned, maybe even a little amused. "What was that?"

"Could you have stopped him, that… Michael _thing_ ? I know you can See things, so I am _sure_ you saw that,” Jon says venomously. “You saw that I was injured, and I'm certain none of my assistants told you. So I want to know if you could have stopped him from doing what he did."

Elias looks unperturbed. "I suppose I could have, yes."

"So why _didn't_ you?" Jon hisses, furious now. "Y-you saw and you just sat back and did nothing? Let a woman, a-an innocent civilian, be taken by that _thing_?"

"It seemed to be none of my business, Jon, and I would suggest—" 

"You've done this before, you know," Jon says with disgust, because he isn't sure he can hold it back any longer. "Jane Prentiss. Y-you acted as if we were being silly for as long as it was convenient! You told me you were _sorry_ you couldn't help us _sooner_ , and you must have known all along!"

"Jon, I would consider tread—"

"And I assume you saw when Martin was trapped as well, which means you've endangered the lives of my assistants more than _once._ You've been lying to us and playing the fool for months, at the risk of _human lives,_ and now you've let someone be taken! How long are you going to continue this? Are you going to wait until all of us are dead down there? Or until you get tired of waiting like you did with Gertrude and shoot us yoursel—"

" _Jon,_ " Elias says, dangerous. He doesn't shout, nothing like that, but the _way_ he says it, the command… Jon stops. What else is he to do?

"I would _consider,_ " says Elias, undertone sharp, "treading lightly. Considering everything you just said." He leans back in his chair, surveying Jon thoughtfully. "Helen Richardson was of no real interest to me, if you must know. That is why I didn't interfere with her the way I did with Prentiss."

"And the others?" Jon says sharply.

"Goodness, Jon, your investment is interesting. Gertrude certainly didn't care _this_ much for her assistants." Elias looks at him evenly, eyes narrowed. "Let me put it this way. Tim, Sasha, and Martin are trapped here, same as you." Jon's breath catches in his throat at that; it's silly, he's always suspected this to be the case, but a small part of him still hoped _they_ might be able to leave, at least. " _I_ have no real desire to see them dead, but… certain things fall out of my control." 

Elias clears his throat, sits up straighter and _looks_ at Jon. Really looks at him. Jon couldn't put it into words if he tried, but he can _feel_ the look. "If you really are invested in their safety," he says, "I would heed my advice. And Gertrude's as well. She did tell you that you would always be in danger, correct?" 

He smiles then, sharply, and Jon just turns away. Turns and leaves. He doesn't know what else he can say. Everything he can think of is too harsh, too dangerous. He doesn't trust Elias, but he's essentially a hostage alongside the others. It seems wise to keep Elias somewhat appeased. 

He goes back to work the next day. It still feels unwise to leave the others alone here, even if he can’t really talk to them—it is more than clear that the Archives aren't safe. 

\---

Things more or less go back to normal after Jon gets back from the days he took off. 

Sasha thinks all of them were hoping that they'd formed some sort of bond taking Jon to the hospital that would snap Jon out of his distancing protective phase, but it doesn't. If anything, Jon is _more_ distant when he comes back, more distant than he's been since they all started working down here. It's driving them all gradually crazy, and Sasha personally doesn't know how much more of it she can take. 

She's exhausted. They're all exhausted, she's sure, but she's been exhausted for weeks now. She's been throwing herself into work, stepping away from trying to organize things as a whole, as Jon's more or less suggested since finding Gertrude's tape, and focusing on the mystery-unraveling they've taken on in recent weeks. Which is exhausting, considering how much of that relies on speculation, or trying to piece together academic texts and historical accounts and statements whose legitimacy is impossible to text without lugging out the tape recorders, which Jon absolutely hogs. Not to mention that she’s been nearly sick over worrying about Michael coming back, coming back to find her or _because_ of her, and hurting someone else. And that’s skipping over the fact that Sasha has been having recurring nightmares for a couple weeks now, nightmares she hasn't had since she transferred from Artifact Storage. Horrid dreams where she's trapped back in that room, among all those horrible, murderous things, looming over her. And she can hear voices behind her, whispering things that are indecipherable aside from her name. And the table is there, the one from the Amy Patel statement, and it's stretched out like some sort of captivating trap, singing out with its lurking, lurring patterns, and there’s no one to tell her to look away. 

In the dreams, Sasha never realizes she is trapped until it is too late. And then she wakes up in a sweaty panic and has a lot of trouble falling back asleep again. Most nights, she doesn't. 

Tim and Martin pick up on her exhaustion; she can tell by the way Tim starts buying coffee and stocking in between the boxes of tea in the break room, and Martin starts offering to split statement investigations. They don't say much about it, considering that they're all a little exhausted, but they definitely notice. 

The three of them have some odd little routine going by this point. Sasha and Martin have fallen into the habit of working late, between high workloads and their own curiosity, and while Tim doesn't exactly approve, he'll usually help, under the condition that they work somewhere besides the Archives. ("Spooky basement offices aren't good for your health. Haven't you ever seen _The X-Files_?") So they'll usually end up at one of their flats, crowded around cluttered papers and books and takeout, working til the late hours of the evening. Sasha thinks Jon would be proud, if he knew what they were doing, but maybe that’s self-serving, wishful thinking. She and Martin tried inviting him, once, and he panickedly declined almost immediately. 

Statements keep coming in, two or three legitimate ones a week. Jon doesn't bother with the ones that don't record digitally anymore. The three of them dig into statements about being lost in the streets of Italy, Jared Hopworth working as something of a butcher, more of Robert Smirke's architecture. Sasha takes out some books about Robert Smirke to continue her research into the Millbank Prison. The policewoman Basira returns to deliver a tape on the Library of Alexandria. Jon doesn't say much after her visit, aside from informing them that there _is_ another tape, if any of them want to listen. Tim isn't very interested in the tape—Sasha's already promised to listen out for any references to the Circus of the Other or Grimaldi—but he listens at Jon's door a little when Basira shows up in an attempt to get information. He doesn't get very much, aside from incessant jokes about Basira having a crush on Jon considering the frequent visits (in an attempt to tease Martin, Sasha thinks; lighten the mood a little, maybe). 

Sasha and Martin end up listening to the tape together, since Tim isn't interested. Martin hadn't listened to the last one, but he says he's curious, wants to gather the information available and try to get a full picture. The tape has nothing to do with the previous one, but it's plenty eerie—both of them are shuddering and flushed by the end, clear panic breaking out on Martin's face. And it's clear why Gertrude had it with her, by the end. It's about an Archive. Not their Archive, but another one, under the streets of Alexandria. A potential Archivist that may have been there for thousands of years. 

According to some follow-up by Jon, there was some sort of explosion months after this statement was given. An explosion that he thinks may have corresponded to Gertrude's own follow-up. Sasha isn't surprised. It sounds like something Gertrude would do, as much as hiding a tape warning her successor, or planning to burn down the Archives. She remembers how she was, before her death. It doesn't seem out of character at all. 

Martin seems a little worried after they're finished, casting worried looks at Jon's door. "You don't think that… _all_ the Archivists end up like that, do you?" he asks at one point, after they've given Tim the briefest summary they can. 

Sasha isn't sure what to say to that; she honestly doesn’t know. The more she thinks on it, the more she thinks she should be grateful she _wasn't_ made the Archivist. (Though at times, she isn't sure that being an assistant is much better. She’s probably still trapped, and faces all the dangers coming to the Archives by default; she just got denied the pay raise and the authority.)

"I don't think so," Tim says, clicking through a document open on his computer. "Gertrude didn't."

"Gertrude _died_."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Martin," Sasha says, an attempt at comfort. "Whatever that was had clearly been down there for a _long_ time, and Jon hasn't even been the Archivist for two years yet. I think we have more present worries at the moment." Elias is still lurking around; he doesn't come to the Archives much, but they get occasional emails asking about progress, and they always seem tinged with some sort of threatening. They've all seen it. And the question of whether or not Michael will come back—or if other things like him and Prentiss will come, ones they've never seen before—is still hanging over them. Sasha doesn't know what to think about that either, but the possibility still scares her plenty. They still don't know what's in the tunnels, or what the tunnels are used for, and they've made no progress in their attempts to get Elias arrested, and they're all nearly positive that none of them can leave here. There are so many things to worry about that Sasha's nearly lost count. 

Martin sighs, pressing a palm to his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. You're right, Sasha. I just… this is such a mess. I don't know what any of this means."

"Join the club, Martin," Tim says heavily, leaning into the desk. "Join the club."

They're all tired. Jon, too—they can tell even through the brief encounters. He's always yawning, always has huge circles under his eyes. The late working nights taper off to maybe once or twice a week because Sasha can tell how weary Martin and Tim are, not just from lack of sleep, but from trying to process all of this. It's a lot for anyone. She can't blame them. She stays late by herself some nights, on the nights when she knows Elias is gone for the evening and Jon isn't staying late. She holes up in the library sometimes, simply because it's less depressing than the Archives, and spends hours reading into all the things that have been mentioned—Grimaldi, Smirke, the Millbank Prison, Jonah Magnus, all of it. She pieces through statements and finds most of them are probably discredited. She falls asleep on her desk one night and has another nightmare, wakes up shaking with a strong, unexplainable urge to go up to Artifact Storage. It's a compulsion like smoking, hard to let go of, and Sasha thinks about going just so she can stop thinking about it, but she decides against it when she remembers how creepy that room can get. It could only be worse late at night. She'll go the next day, when Tim or Martin can go with her. 

Another night, she hacks into Jon's computer. It's not something she does often—she did it the first time on a dare by Tim, that's how they found out how old he is—but she's sick of sitting around and getting no answers, and only a closed door from Jon. She doesn't think he'd hide anything dangerous from them, considering how he's rambled on about keeping them safe, but she absolutely believes he would hide important information if he thought hiding it would protect them. And Sasha wants to know, needs to know, maybe as badly as Jon does. 

So she gets into his computer again one night when she's alone, and only feels a little guilty about it. There's barely anything to hide, either—she steers away from private stuff, although there's not much of that, and all that's really there aside from typical statement research is more research like she's been doing. Jon's been digging into more personal stuff, on Elias (not Jonah Magnus specifically, but the history he has under the name Elias Bouchard) and Gertrude herself. He's got some small research gathered on the rituals, but there's not much there. Sasha's more interested in what he's found on Gertrude. Specifically on her flat, and the fact that it hasn't been sold yet. He's got pictures of the site, the address written down, something about having talked to the real estate agent about why it hasn't been let go yet. 

"Everything for the perfect breakin," Sasha tells Tim over the phone at her desk later. She's looking at a picture of another flat for rent in Gertrude's building, wondering if the layouts are similar. 

"Guess you're not the only burgeoning criminal in the Archives," Tim says teasingly. "You really think he'd break in?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," says Sasha, "if he's as desperate for information as we are."

"He's going to get himself arrested. Good thing he's got a cop girlfriend."

Sasha stares at the pictures of the empty rooms. There's a bookshelf, a window space where she could imagine a desk. She can't stop thinking about what might be there, any unintentional clues or valuable information Gertrude would leave behind. She doesn't see Gertrude as _wanting_ them to break into her apartment, so maybe she wouldn't keep anything like a tape addressed to the Archivist there, but maybe _something_ … "I'm going to go," she says abruptly. 

"What?" Tim sounds confused, on the other end. "On the… break in? Jon is barely even talking to us."

"I'll confront him head-on. Bug him about it. Maybe get Martin in on it, he's a good convincer." Sasha swallows, closes the window on her computer, drums her fingers rapidly on the desktop. "I… I need to know, Tim. I just… do. And he's been hiding things so much… if anything, I need to go along to keep him from getting arrested, or stabbed again, or something like that."

"That is true," says Tim. He sounds a little reluctant, but also a little supportive. It might be the most severe crime they've committed in the name of work, but it's probably not the first. "He would do better with you along. Sasha James, Genius Passed-Over Archivist Extraordinaire."

Sasha laughs a little. "Sure, Tim. Sure. But I _am_ going."

"Good luck talking him into it." Tim laughs a little, adds, "You need a getaway driver? I _am_ the finest cat burglar in all of Bromley."

Sasha laughs again, shutting her laptop and letting her cheek drop to rest on her arm, phone still wedged up against her ear. It's dark outside of the office, in the gaping maw of the Institute. If she listens hard, she thinks she's hearing footsteps, but she's probably imagining it; there's no one here but her. "Well, if you're offering…” 

\---

Jon gets in early the next morning, as his routine has been. Get in before the others do so he can avoid talking to them. It's gotten harder and harder to make small talk since his confrontation with Elias, with the revelation that the others are trapped here as much as he is. He can tell the distance he's put between them is getting to Tim and Sasha, at least—they've seemed a little less resentful since Michael's visit, maybe, but there are looks of suspicion and annoyance aimed his way often enough. And Martin's still looking at him like he's about to shatter. (The stitches have come out, but the wound is still painful, as impossible to forget as Prentiss's scars. A reminder of all that's happened, of all that's probably to come. Jon's sure this won't end any time soon.)

The silence of the days have gotten so commonplace that it's genuinely startling when he hears the door opening, followed by Sasha saying, "What's with all the research on Gertrude?" 

Jon jolts in surprise at the voice, unexpected after hours of silence broken only by his own voice and the whir of the tape recorders. He turns to see her standing in the doorway, arms crossed, staring at him a little skeptically. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he tries, a little pathetically. The bread knife excuse was better than this. He didn't think any of them had noticed that.

"Most of it's pretty normal, stuff I've looked into myself. That doesn't surprise me." Sasha pushes her glasses up her nose, unflinchingly. "I was wondering more about the research into her flat. Paid out for at least six months, untouched even after her death, right?"

"How do you know what I've been—have you been looking on my _computer_ again?" Jon asks incredulously. He'd mostly thought they were kidding at the surprise party before, but _now_ … "That is an invasion of privacy—"

"I kept to the research. I wanted to know what you're hiding from us." She fixes him with the same sort of hard look he's gotten used to after hiding in his office for weeks. "You've barely spoken to us in weeks, outside of discussing case follow-ups. You tried to hide it when you'd been _stabbed._ You made this big show of sharing the tape with us, and letting us help with investigating it, and then you just cut us all off!" Sasha shakes her head, like she's at a loss for words. "We can't— _I_ can't stand the radio silence, Jon. Especially not with this. I want to know, too. I’m sorry I got into your computer, but you haven’t told us a thing, and I just… My name was the one mentioned in that tape. I… I want to know, too."

Jon swallows uncomfortably. Maybe he should be angrier at Sasha getting into his computer, but it isn't if _he_ hasn't been hiding things himself. He should've told them about what Elias told him about quitting as soon as it happened, but he wasn't sure how to break the news. (A part of him just couldn't bear to deliver another piece of bad news.) And he has been distant and cold, aside from the hiding things, so maybe he doesn’t even have the moral ground to _get_ mad. "I don't… I'm not trying to deny you information, Sasha. I'm simply trying to…"

"To protect us. I know," says Sasha. "And I appreciate the sentiment. I do! But… I want to help with these things. I want to know. I'm _choosing_ to. And I'd appreciate it if you'd let me help you."

Jon lets his head drop in his hands with defeat. He should've expected this, between Martin hovering at his door, and the side glances Sasha’s been throwing, and the slight edge of hardness in Tim's tone when they talk in the breakroom or when they invite him out and he says no. He can't push them away forever. But maybe he can offer something to tide them over for a bit. 

"You're not going to let this go, are you," he says into his palms. 

"Nope!" Sasha says cheerfully, and she drops into the chair at the side of his desk. "You're planning on breaking into Gertrude's, right? Into her flat?"

Jon sighs again, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Yes. That was… the next step I was considering."

"I think it's a great idea," Sasha says. (Unsurprising, considering her proclivity for computer snooping, Jon thinks.) "Maybe Gertrude had something else important there, something that could help us. It would probably be safer there than at the Institute."

"Yes, that was my thinking. I certainly think it’s worth the risk of police attention. I’m… not sure how much longer I can take not knowing.” 

“I feel the exact same way,” Sasha says. "So… when are we going?"

And that is how Jon finds himself standing outside Gertrude's front door with Sasha around eleven at night. It's a green door. An inane detail, but one Jon can't help but notice. Gertrude Robinson has— _had_ —a green door. 

"How are we getting in?" Sasha asks. She's changed into dark clothes since work, hair thrown back—two steps away from a movie burglar, Jon thinks. He's still in the clothes from work; he came straight from the Archives. They're both wearing gloves, at least; it feels like the wise thing to do.

"You don't know how to… pick a lock or something?" Jon says, motioning frustratedly at the door. 

"No. Why would I know how to do that?"

"You knew how to break into my computer."

"I don't know if you know this, Jon, but computers and doors are completely different mediums," Sasha says dryly. "How were you planning to get in _before_ I was coming along?"

Jon shrugs. "Break a window?"

"Jesus, Jon, you're bad at this." 

There's an edge of teasing in her words that makes Jon relax a little. (Which is probably absurd, considering he's about to _break in_ somewhere, but he's faced worse the past few months.) "You don't seem to have any better ideas, do you?" he retorts, kneeling to grab a rock. 

Sasha jumps a little when the glass breaks, but she doesn't say anything; she just looks relieved when no alarm goes off. "We'd better be quick, unless we want to get arrested," she says, and goes to climb in the window, knocking out the glass with her hand wrapped in her jacket. 

The flat is small, which is to be expected for London on an Archives salary, Jon supposes. He checks the kitchen while Sasha vanishes into the bedroom. The kitchen is practically empty: empty refrigerator, empty shelves, empty cabinets, aside from a pot and a kettle and a mug. And boxes of tea. "Nothing in the kitchen but tea things," Jon calls, thinking absently that Martin and Gertrude probably would've gotten along if he'd been _her_ assistant. The living room is mostly empty, too, aside from some sparse furniture. No television, but a laptop charger is coiled on the couch. Gertrude's laptop would be a valuable thing to have, Jon thinks absently, and he begins rummaging to find it: through drawers, cabinets built into the wall, even the couch cushions. "Any sign of a laptop, Sasha?" he calls. 

"No, but there's a lot of books here. Come take a look."

In the bedroom, Sasha is flipping frantically through the books clustered in a bookshelf by the made bed. There aren't many there, but a substantial enough amount. Sasha's got a bunch, presumably looked through already, piled on the bed. Jon picks one up and studies the cover. It's a book about Charlemagne, he guesses based on the title, but the drawing on the cover of the book is missing its eyes, as expected. Sasha finishes flipping through another and lets it drop. "I thought she might have something hidden between the pages," she says by way of explanation. "Not… addressed to us or anything. Just… maybe something we could use."

Jon picks up one of the books on the shelf and begins to shuffle through with one thumb. "I'd like to find that laptop, but I'm not sure where it would be hidden," he says. "All the cabinets and things are empty enough that it can't be hidden behind clutter."

"I wouldn't put it past her to have a secret compartment under the floorboards or something," Sasha says, "but I doubt we'll have time to look. Police will probably be here sooner than later."

They flip through all the books without bothering to jam them back on the shelves; it'll be obvious someone broke in, and they do have gloves to avoid fingerprints. Then they turn to rummaging for the laptop, checking the closet, the bedside table, under the bed. Then back out to the main room to check there. "Maybe she hid it in the Archives," Sasha says. 

"If she did, there's a good chance Elias already has it," Jon mutters through clenched teeth. He pulls folded towels out of the cabinet in the bathroom, but there's nothing back there aside from a small spider. He bites back an automatic shudder and shoves them back in.

"Or not. He didn't find the tape, you know." Sasha stands abruptly, pulling on the band around her hair, and turns to Jon in the bathroom door. "Is that a siren?"

"I don't hear anything." Jon noses the bath mat out of the way with the toe of her shoe. 

"I do. That's sirens. Headed this way." Sasha heads for the window. "C'mon, Jon, let's get out of here. We can look for the laptop in the Archives."

Jon checks under the sink, in the tub, and behind the toilet until Sasha calls again, more urgently. "Jon, they're getting closer, come on!" Then he hurries back to the window and climbs through it, landing clumsily beside Sasha. She grabs his wrist and pulls him towards the sidewalk, whispering panickedly, "They're getting closer, we need to get out of here. Come on."

The sirens do come closer, so Jon lets Sasha pull him behind her for a moment, even though they're headed in the opposite direction of the Tube station Jon came here in. They're headed away from the sirens, though, so Jon doesn't say anything for a couple blocks. And then he says, "Sasha, uh, where are we—you seem as if you're _going_ somewhere."

"Yeah. I've got us a ride," Sasha says, stopping abruptly at a car parked at the curb. A closer look reveals that Tim is at the driver's seat, with Martin in the front seat, and Jon's breath catches in surprise at the realization. He hadn't wanted them _all_ to be involved. 

"Getaway drivers extraordinaire, huh?" Tim says proudly when Sasha opens the back door. "Hop in, guys."

"Where the hell did you get this, Tim? I thought you'd get a cab or something," Sasha says, climbing across the backseat. 

"Borrowed it from a neighbor. Thought a cab driver might call the police."

"Jon, c'mon," Martin says, turned around in the front seat to look at Jon, still standing on the curb. His eyes are dark in the dim light. "I still hear sirens."

Jon doesn't get in, one hand on the door. He doesn't look at Tim or Martin, either. He says to Sasha, "I… didn't know you told them."

"I thought we might need the help," Sasha says, tone thick with defensiveness. "Now, come on, get in. We'll take you home."

He can't do that. He knows what happens if he gets in that car: they'll talk and make jokes and show concern, and then they'll all be friends again, and it _can't_ happen even if Jon wants it to. Because then they'll be asking questions about what he's found, and offering to come into the tunnels again, or they'll be there the next time something attacks him, and Elias has already said he won't protect them. And they couldn't trust him even if he said he would. And after everything with Prentiss, Jon swore this wouldn't happen again. That he wouldn't let it. They may be trapped in the Archives with him, but he won't force them into danger by getting too close. He won't. Letting Sasha come along in the first place was a mistake. 

"I… can't," Jon says. "I'll walk."

"You're kidding," says Tim, voice low, twisting in the front seat. "We can get you out of here, surely that's… more important than your isolation quest."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine," Jon says, starting to close the door. 

"Jon, quit being ridiculous. You're going to get yourself arrested," says Martin. 

"Get in and we'll get out of this," Sasha adds. 

"No! No. I'm fine, and I don't need a ride." Annoyance sets into Jon's tone, out of nowhere, but not a false emotion by any account. He pushes a little coldness in for good measure. "I didn't want any of you involved in this in the first place, but you've all managed to worm your way in. And I'm telling you that I am _fine_ without your ride."

Martin and Sasha both look stung. Tim, meanwhile, just looks mad. "Fine. You know what? Have a nice night, Jon. Hope you don't get arrested. I'll see you tomorrow."

The words sting, but there is no real reason for them to. It's just a response to what he's said just now; he’s brought this on himself. 

Jon shuts the door and stands back as the car pulls away from the curb, pretending he doesn't see Martin watching him through the window. He runs the rest of the way to another station when the car is gone, and manages to make it back to his apartment without being caught. It's hard to be certain, but it would seem he's gotten away with this. He can only hope Sasha has, too.

In the morning, he leaves for work early again to get there before the others. He sees them only twice, when he leaves his office to use the bathroom or to retrieve his lunch. They don’t say anything to him aside from a brief hello from Martin. 

It should feel like a victory, but it somehow doesn’t. Jon tries to ignore the feelings of guilt that come with this, because they _don’t_ matter. All that matters is that everyone is safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really couldn't resist the x files reference. it was right there. (fun fact: someone who has never listened to tma sent me a prompt for a tma xf au when i asked for prompts on tumblr, and most of the reason i never ended up doing it was because the premises are similar enough i couldn't figure it out. the only way i could see doing it was to throw in aliens and a bunch of really really weird familial connections.)
> 
> hit me up on tumblr at ghostbustermelanieking!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's attempts to distance himself from everyone has worked very effectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am sorry for the sheer length of all of these chapters. i have an inability to write anything short lol. i'm also sorry for how infrequent the updates have been. life is crazy, but i'm hoping that they won't all be a month apart!
> 
> warning for some brief descriptions of blood and gore at the end of the chapter.

Things slow down considerably after Jon and Sasha's break-in—considering the row they had outside of the getaway car, it isn't exactly a _surprise,_ but it's still uncomfortable. Sasha and Jon don't get arrested, although Martin stays jumpy, nervous wondering if Jon's policewoman friend will come back. And Jon keeps hiding in his office, and Tim and Sasha stay mad at Jon. 

Martin can't really blame them for that, because Jon _was_ an ass, he won't deny that, he’s always been a bit of an ass at times. But the discomfort of all this new tension is a _lot_ to deal with. The silence spanning the office is enough to make _anyone_ squirm, and the occasional drop-bys Elias does certainly aren't helping. Martin can't remember work being this miserable since Prentiss's worms. They've stopped their late night working sessions completely; Tim seems tired of work, tired of trying to unravel this mystery, and while Martin isn't going to complain about _less_ work, he misses the companionship that nights like that led to. And he won't lie and say he's not curious about the ins and outs of all this. It's not as if he can leave it behind and move on (he guesses), and as long as they're in _danger…_

But the point seems moot. By some unspoken agreement, he and Tim are sticking solely to statement follow-up, and if Sasha is still investigating, she's sticking to after-work hours by herself. And Jon's not talking to them. So Martin guesses that's the end of things for now. 

Halloween comes, and they have an influx of statements, which is predictable. Jon seems annoyed (in their brief interactions) on the focus shifting away from non-legitimate statements to disproved live statements, but it's a nice enough change of pace. Tim mocks most of the sillier statements pretty mercilessly, and he and Sasha do a few dramatic readings that have all three of them all cracking up. That's nice enough. Someone comes in to give a (legitimate) live statement, someone apparently with some association with Prentiss—he has some questions on the way to Jon's office, which he delivers with a bewildered sort of look on his face. Jon claims there's nothing of significance in his statement. Tim says he's probably lying. "All this abandonment and rudeness and pushing everyone away… who _knows_ what all he's hiding?"

"To be fair, Tim, he doesn't seem to be hiding things," Sasha says tiredly, pushing her glasses up in her hair. "Just rudely refusing our help."

Tim jabs a finger in the air. "Exactly. _Exactly_."

"I'm sure he'd tell us if there was anything important there," Martin murmurs, pushing his pen back in its little cup. He can feel habitual teeth marks underneath his fingers. He hasn't chewed on his pens since he was a kid, but he's picked it back up again. Anxiety, regression, all that. "He shared the tape with us." 

"And what has he done since then?" Tim's tone is irritable, sharper than Martin is used to hearing from him. "I dunno. You guys call me crazy, but I feel like he's hiding something all over again. Remember, he wasn't exactly beckoning us into his office to play us that tape."

"But he _did_ show us," Sasha says. "We didn't… find it, or anything. He told us, because it was important. And I think he'd do it again." 

"I do, too," Martin says. 

Tim shrugs, pushing air out through his teeth frustratedly. "Fine. All right. I'm sure he would, sure. But he's being a dick. You can't deny that." 

Sasha cracks a small smile and shrugs. "Okay, you're right there. I'll give you that." And to that, Martin can't say anything. 

He talks to Jon only once in the following weeks, out of a habitual sort of avoidance, mostly on Jon's part. But Jon calls him into the office about a week and a half after the incident with an odd sort of look on his face. When Martin's in and has sat down, shrugging off the looks Sasha and Tim threw him before going in, Jon only then explains why he called Martin in. He sits on the other side of his desk and, with an odd sort of look on his face, asks, "Martin, did you… did you lie to me about Trevor Herbert?"

Martin blinks in surprise—after all the silence over the past few weeks, it's a surprise that _this_ is the first thing Jon says to him. And he's not even asking about the right thing, the thing Martin is _actually_ lying about to everyone but Tim and Sasha; it's not as if he _can_ be fired, he doesn't think, and he'd like to think he and Jon have some sort of loyalty between them after everything, but he _still_ gets worried about his faked CV being exposed. When Jon first said the words _lie to me_ , the worried parts of Martin had practically ran around screaming. "I-I'm sorry, who?" he says, attempting pathetically to be polite and pretty much failing. (He's not sure he _has_ much cause to be polite after days of silence. It’s not as if Jon has offered much in the way of politeness.)

"Trevor Herbert. The _vampire hunter_ ," Jon says, sounding annoyed and more like himself. "You told me he died directly after giving the statement we investigated last year. Yet I have a second statement from him sitting here on my desk. Care to explain?"

"Oh," says Martin, still caught somewhere between shock and confusion and uncomfortability. "Oh, I, uh, that must have been a mistake. I… I didn’t ever actually meet him. I just heard some of the other researchers mentioning it." Jon's still staring at him funny, so he adds sheepishly, "I-I could’ve sworn they said he died. I mean… maybe they just said he _looks_ like death or something."

"A misunderstanding, then," Jon says stiffly. "That's it?"

"Yeah?" Martin tries. "I mean, it _must_ have been, i-if he's not dead… I genuinely didn't know, Jon, I didn't… intentionally mislead you or something." He does _not_ think about his CV, not at all. 

Jon sighs, pulling his glasses off to rub his eyes. "Right. Okay. Did you hear anything else about Herbert that might've been helpful? No more misunderstandings?"

"N-no, nothing that I can think of," Martin says, because there isn't anything. 

"All right." Jon picks up the statement, rustling it in his hands almost contemplatively. "Thank you, Martin. That was all I wanted."

That's more or less an invitation to leave, but Martin doesn't move yet. There's still a jumble of things in the back of his mind: his CV, the night at Sasha's after Prentiss, the night when Jon refused to get into the car. He'd been convinced half the night that Jon had been arrested; it had been a strange sort of relief to come in the next morning and find him there. "Are you… doing okay, Jon?" he says tentatively. "After… Gertrude's and everything?"

Jon seems to tense a little. Seems to purposefully not look up. "I'm… fine," he says. "Just fine."

"Police haven't come sniffing around?" Martin can't squash the concern, whether he should try to squash it or not. "Nothing weird from… upstairs, or anything like that?"

"No, no, nothing like that. All has been well." Jon looks up finally, with a strangely composed expression. "And what about you? Anything… strange lately? Anything to be concerned about?"

If Martin didn't know better, he'd think Jon was concerned. "No," he says softly, and this time he does move for the door. "No, nothing strange at all."

\---

Jon's attempts to distance himself from everyone has worked very effectively. Everyone is avoiding him at work, hiding at their desks or in the break room, doing the assignments he gives and not wasting time over explaining their research. Martin's the only one who will hold a conversation with him, and even that doesn't last long (although half the time that's probably Jon's doing). Things stay uneventful in the following weeks, and it's legitimately sort of a relief. Even though it's harder than Jon would've expected to be so isolated. 

November passes easily and quietly. Almost too quietly. Besides burgeoning lonely feelings that Jon tries his best to suppress, nothing happens with Elias, or with anything like Prentiss or Micheal. There's no sign of Michael at all, or of Helen Richardson (although Jon finds himself checking his office walls like the door might reappear, like he has the ability to actually save anyone). He spends some time poking around the tunnels without ever going far, and he's pretty sure Sasha starts doing the same thing. She starts staying late, too, sometimes even at the same time as him, buried in research every night, and Jon's sure he hears the trapdoor open and close some evenings. It makes him nervous, but he doesn't say anything to stop her. What _can_ he say? Telling her not to do it will probably just want to make her do it more. 

(The most he ever talks to Sasha during this is one night when he leaves before she does. She's still at her desk, lamp on, glasses shoved up in her hair, staring at a spread of papers and photos. A brief closer look and Jon recognizes it immediately: the Amy Patel statement. She's got the photos of the different Graham Folgers out. 

He isn't sure what to say to that, so he simply says, "I hope you have a good night, Sasha."

She doesn't look up from her work when she says, "Yeah, you too.")

Jon records a statement about a space station, another about cannibalism on the Oregon Trail, another statement to add to the mystery of Hill Top Road. He looks for more information on Gertrude, looks for more mysterious tapes or for the wayward laptop, but he doesn't find anything; he doesn't hear anything from Basira, either. The others stay distant into December, to the point where Jon's wondering whether this resentment is a permanent thing, and whether or not the distancing was even _worth_ it with how quiet things have been. If things aren't threatening him and therefore indirectly threatening his assistants, then is there any reason for them not working together? Anger, maybe, on their parts, which is probably deserved. Jon's not self deluded enough to pretend he wasn't an ass to them, at the beginning of their transfers, and more recently. He deserves all this silence, even if it is uncomfortable.

Things shake up a bit when Basira's partner comes in and gives a statement. (The scary Detective Tonner, as Martin keeps calling her.) Apparently Basira sent a tape over with her, but Jon actually convinces her to make a statement before she leaves. And he gets another revelation along with all of that, although not exactly a comforting one: apparently Daisy Tonner and Basira both suspected him of Gertrude's murder. Suspected past tense, yes, because apparently he's got an alibi in CCTV footage that proves he couldn't have murdered Gertrude. That's comforting, at least—although Jon would love to get a look at the CCTV footage, try and see if there's anything of note there even though there's no cameras in the Archives—but the revelation that he'd been a suspect is disconcerting. He really had no idea, all that time talking to Basira. He's not sure what to make of things, now; he didn't do it, and he's sure he knows who did, but the police clearly have no idea. Furthermore, the fact that he comes off as a murderer isn't reassuring at all. 

Anyways. Daisy Tonner gives a statement about the infamous coffin, that Jon recognizes from the Joshua Gillespie statement. And she leaves a tape of Gertrude's behind. 

Jon listens to the tape immediately after Daisy leaves, rewinding through the end conversation more than once, before passing the tape on to Sasha. (Maybe he shouldn't, but there doesn't seem to be anything too dangerous on the tape, and he knows Sasha would be upset at him hiding this.) It's a conversation with Mary Keay, one that lingers over Leitner and provides some interesting bits of context. There's several things on the tape that interest him, one being the so-called "End" that Mary refers to at the end of the tape. She says that the Leitner she encountered in the statement came from "the End" and that she didn't want to serve it. Jon's immediate thought is that it must be one of the fears Gertrude mentioned in the tape she left for him; he writes down _END_ on a piece of paper, underlining it three times, and makes a note to tell the others to watch out for statements with similarities. 

The other thing of interest is the creaking at the end of the tape, the familiar creaking of a floorboard in his office. Jon finds a compartment underneath the board, with a laptop and a key inside. While he's disappointed in the lack of further tapes, further messages of use to himself and his assistants, he's a little relieved to see the laptop. He's been wondering about it for some time. 

Unfortunately, as he should have expected considering Gertrude's secrecy and security, the laptop is password-protected, and Jon's never been very good at guessing that sort of stuff. After several days of trying between statement research and things like that, he's frustrated enough to want to give up. The most intelligent part of him knows he should really just go to Sasha with this stuff—considering she's hacked his computer more than once now—but considering everything that happened at Gertrude's flat, he isn't convinced it's a good idea to get the rest of them involved. And aside from that, considering how things have been lately, he isn't sure how willing Sasha would be to help him in the first place. 

Sasha doesn't have much to say about the Mary Keay tape, only that she and Martin listened to it. Apparently Tim wasn't interested. She noticed the mention of the End, too, whatever that is, and quietly agrees when Jon asks her to keep a lookout for similar statements. The conversation isn't long. Their conversations never are, now. 

Things stay quiet for most of December. Literally quiet, in most cases. Melanie King returns at some point asking for credentials to use the library, with the revelation that Ghost Hunt UK has ended. (Apparently the shouting match she and Jon got into last time didn't sway her from returning; apparently Georgie somewhat vouched for him, although Jon can't remember the last time he even talked to Georgie.) Jon goes down to talk to Basira at one point, looking for another tape, and maybe further insight into Gertrude, but it goes badly, as badly as everything seems to go lately. Jon still can't figure a way into Gertrude's laptop, and he still doesn't want to ask Sasha.

There is one odd moment on a night close to the Christmas holidays. Sasha's still staying late to work often, although separately from Jon, and on the night in question, Jon sees her at her desk after hours, but she isn't there when he goes to leave for the night. That isn't odd in and of itself, aside from the fact that her lamp is on, and she usually turns it off when she leaves. Jon figures she must have forgotten and shuts it off for her. But he realizes she hasn't left yet on his way out, when he heads up for the exit and passes her in the hall. 

Sasha doesn't notice him right away when he passes, not even when he stops and turns towards her. She's standing in front of the closed door to Artifact Storage, staring at it determinedly, like she's trying to decide whether or not to go in. 

"Sasha?" Jon says, cautiously, and she jumps at the sound of his voice, eyes widening with panic. "Is everything… all right?" he adds, awkwardly, unsure of why she is just standing here like this. 

Sasha shakes her head a little. "Fine," she says, pushing her bag up her shoulder. "Just fine. I was… leaving for the night."

"Oh," says Jon. "All right."

They end up walking out to the front together because they _are_ both leaving. Sasha says she has a cab coming; Jon takes the Tube, normally, but he stands out on the steps and waits with her. He'd say this is out of politeness, and it wouldn't be entirely wrong, but that's not the primary reason; maybe he's crazy, but he has a strange feeling that he can't quite explain. Like he shouldn't leave Sasha alone. 

Sasha doesn't ask him why he's waiting. Doesn't really talk to him at all. She checks her phone, texts something to Tim, fidgets with her hands in a nervous sort of way. And when the cab pulls up to the curb, she looks over her shoulder at Jon briefly and says, "Um, thanks for waiting," before heading for the car.

"Sasha," Jon says suddenly as she's going for the cab, without really knowing why. "I'm… I'm sorry. For… how things have been lately. I'm sorry."

Sasha's turned to look back at him, her expression unreadable. Shifting her bag again, she says quietly, "Thank you." And then she turns and gets into the cab.

Jon feels like he should apologize to Martin and Tim, like he should apologize to all of them, but he isn't sure he can. Not with everything that might still happen. Tim's still shooting him sideways looks of irritation or ignoring him completely, and Jon's not sure it's going to be an easy fix with him. Or maybe Sasha, either, or Martin. He has a lot to apologize for with Martin.

He leaves it alone, and Sasha doesn't really talk about it the next day. She doesn't bring up her odd excursion with Artifact Storage, either. If anything, that's what sticks with Jon the most—the image of Sasha standing in front of the door to Artifact Storage. Staring at it almost like—almost like she was hypnotized.

\---

"Let's quit," Tim says, a statement that is certainly sudden, and that is motivated purely by the strangeness of the last couple months, on top of the shittiness the job has shown him ever since he transferred. 

Sasha looks up from her book, her feet shifting from where they're thrown over his leg. "Huh?"

"Let's do it. Let's quit, c'mon. This job is fucking awful, you're being plagued by nightmares, we're constantly in danger, we've sort of given up on this whole 'unravel the red string' shit, and Jon's refusing to talk to us… what's the point? What is the fucking _point_?" Tim pokes her absently in the side. "You and me. Martin, too. We'd want to do it together, right?"

"Of course, yeah, but…" Sasha shifts awkwardly against the arm of the couch, pushing her glasses up on her forehead. "We don't even know if we _can_ quit."

"We should find out. Really," says Tim. "I'd like to. I'd like to know for certain."

Sasha's face screws up a little, looking briefly at her book before back up at him. She thumbs the edge of one corner, reaches out abruptly to take his hand. "I'd… like to know as well," she admits quietly. "Just to know if we're really trapped or not, you know?"

"I bet Martin would, too," Tim replies. Her hand is cool in his, their thumbs nudged together like they're in the middle of a thumb war. 

Sasha looks back at the book—about Robert Smirke and architecture—before shoving it aside. She squeezes his hand. "Yeah. Okay, let's do it."

"Really?" Tim's not— _surprised_ , exactly, but he wasn't sure she'd agree. He knows how much she's invested in this, doesn't want to pull her away from this against her will, even if he worries about her pretty frequently. (It's probably inaccurate to say that _Sasha's_ given up on the red string shit, but she seems much less invested than she was before, he thinks. They've all deflated a bit since that night with Gertrude's flat. But he still wasn't sure she'd be ready to leave it behind.)

"We should talk to Martin first, and probably Jon, but… yeah. We should try. So we can know for sure." 

"Cool." Tim pulls their hands closer, rubbing absent circles on her palms with his thumb. Ignoring the small burst of hope somewhere in the pit of his stomach; he doesn't even know if he's going to be _able_ to leave. But god, he wants to. 

Martin is much more skeptical when they present the idea, clustered around the ladder out of the tunnel the next morning. "I'm not _opposed_ to it, obviously," he says in a nervous sort of rush. "I mean, this job has been hell, I won't deny that, I just… what about Jon?"

"What _about_ Jon?" Tim says, maybe a little indifferently. "He doesn't want us involved in this. You guys have said he's trying to push us away to protect us—quitting would keep us safe, wouldn't it?"

"It would, I'm sure. Just… if it _did_ work. We'd be leaving Jon here alone," says Martin. His hair is sticking up a little at the front like he's been anxiety-pulling at it, and he's got a look on his face not unlike when that Michael character came into the Archives and stabbed Jon. 

Sasha's got a sympathetic look on her face when she speaks, one hand on Martin's shoulder. "Well, Martin, we don't—I think it's more experimental than anything," she says gingerly. "And if we can…"

"I don't… maybe I shouldn't." Martin's neck is a little red, embarrassed. "Not yet. I don't… I'd like to know, but I'm not ready to leave yet."

Tim shifts his gaze down to his shoes, swallowing back the automatic wave of guilt. Sure, he might be pissed at Jon right now, but he's not _completely_ heartless. Jon was his friend once, might still be in some ways, and it doesn't feel good to _abandon_ him—if he even can. Jon didn't choose this, either; he didn't even know about it until it was too late. But Tim doesn't know if he can stay here. He can't do the worms again, or anything like it, can't sit around wondering what's going to hurt or kill them, what's going to cause him to lose Sasha or Martin or even Jon like he lost Danny. He never wanted to be involved with any of this. And if he has a chance to leave… 

"We can tell you what happens," Tim says out loud. "If there's a way out… and you'd wanna take it later…" 

Martin looks a little relieved. "Thank you. Both of you. Really. I… I hope you can get out. I do. Although I’ll miss you.”

"Thanks, Martin," Tim says. "Me, too." He halfway grins at Sasha over Martin's shoulder, and she offers a half-smile back. 

Sasha thinks they should tell Jon if they're going to try and quit. "It's only fair, you know, if we _can_ quit," she says. "Leaving him with one assistant… don't want to leave him high and dry."

Tim pretend-groans, "Oh, you're right," and tugs gently on Sasha's ponytail. "Suppose we should do that. I'll put you in charge of that, yeah? He likes you best."

"Oh, come on, he does not. He asked you to come to the Archives first, remember?" Sasha says distractedly. She's rummaging through her drawers, rifling scrawled notes and printouts; she mentioned wanting to leave her notes for Jon if they can actually quit. 

"Not very glad about that one," says Tim. "And besides, he definitely had you in mind. You give less headaches than I do."

"You almost sound _proud_ of the headaches, Tim," Martin says amusedly, hunched over his laptop in the midst of research into the statement about the computer ghost.

"Oh, I'm _definitely_ proud." Tim makes a face. 

Sasha snorts under her breath, stacking papers in the middle of her desk. "Let's talk to him together, okay? Probably better coming from both of us." 

"Probably." Tim bumps a foot against Martin's desk. "Let's do it, I guess."

"Yeah." Sasha straightens, pushing the stack of papers back, and turns towards him. "Let's do it." 

They head over to Jon's closed door and Sasha taps politely on it. Martin watches them and pretends he isn't. Tim raises his eyebrows at Martin like _Wish us luck._

Jon tells them to come in, but he looks a little perturbed when they do. "Did you… need something?"

"Wanted to talk to you, boss," says Tim, more cheerful than he feels, shutting the door behind them. "Catch up, yeah?" 

"I don't… is that necessary?" Jon says, stiltedly. 

"Yes," says Sasha, tone rigid. "Yes, it is. We… we've decided to try and quit, Jon. We want to know whether or not it works, and everything… it's been a lot, you know? I… Jon?"

Jon looks not unlike he's just been punched in the gut: shocked and horrified, eyes wide with horror, face and neck turning red. "You, uh… you—you're going to quit?" he nearly mumbles.

"That _is_ what she said," Tim says, and he can feel an edge of coldness in his voice that wasn't there before. "Is there a problem with that? You _did_ say, after all this worm shit…"

"I-I did. I did say that, and I meant it, it's just that…" Jon swallows hard, looking between them with a sort of panic on his face. "I… don't think you can."

Tim's breath catches abruptly in his throat. Sasha says, confusion thick in her voice, "I'm sorry, you don't… _think_ we can?"

"I… Elias told me you couldn't," Jon says abruptly. "After Helen Richardson… I… confronted him, and he told me you were all trapped here like I was. I mean, he could have been lying, I suppose, but…" 

"You've known about this?" Tim snaps, the sharpness in his voice surprising even him. "For—for _weeks,_ you've known about this, and you never _told_ us?"

"I… wasn't sure how," Jon says awkwardly, maybe even apologetically. A lot gentler than he spoke after the Gertrude's flat debacle, but it seems too late for that, to Tim. "I was going to at some point…"

"You should have told us immediately, Jon," Sasha says, a similar sharpness in her voice. "That was—we deserved to _know_ about something like this."

"I know," Jon says. "I know…"

"This is like your break-in, huh?" Tim says before he can stop himself—although he's honestly not sure if he _wants_ to stop himself. "Or any of your little tunnel side-quests? Not important enough for us lowly assistants to be involved in? You expect us all to be as brave as the great Jonathan Sims, running off to the hospital with a secret stab wound because oh no, you don't need _anyone's_ help, right?"

"I'm sorry," says Jon, just as Sasha adds softly, "Tim…"

"No, Sash, come on, this is too far! This is too fucking far. He should have told all of us the moment he found out. And don't think for a _second_ we're keeping this from Martin."

"No, of course not," Jon says immediately, looking like he's actually humbled for a second in his life. "Tim, I… I'm sorry. You probably won't believe this, but I've… I've had my reasons for all this distance. I was wrong about this, and I should have told you. I won't deny that. But I won't apologize for the rest."

"Oh, fuck you," Tim says, disgusted. "You've been going on and on about our protection and our safety, but clearly we aren't any fucking safer here than anywhere else. And apparently now we don't have a choice! All because you decided that Sasha and I should follow you here. And then you decided that we should try and share with each other, because you had this valuable information and you thought we should all know, for our _safety_ —and then you just went and changed your mind? That's bullshit. And it's unfair. We've all been working like crazy trying to sort this all out, Sasha risked getting _arrested_ to try and figure all this out, and you don't even care! Because you've changed your mind about us being involved, even though we _apparently_ have no choice in being here. And _don't_ blame Prentiss for this—Sasha and I ended up just like you. We got eaten by _worms_ because of you!"

"Tim," Sasha says again, and nothing else. Jon's still just looking at him, expression somewhere between guilt and determination. He's not budging—somehow this hasn't been enough to sway him away from this stupid act. "I've got my reasons," he says again. "And I'd fire you all if I could get you out of here. But clearly I can't."

"Yet that wasn't deemed worth telling us," Tim bites out. "I'll bet you'd love to have us out of here, though. Have your precious Archives all to yourself."

Jon actually looks a little hurt at that one, although Tim can't bring himself to regret it. He's ready to add more, all the things he wanted to say the night Jon refused their ride—all the things he's wanted to say since Prentiss—but Sasha speaks before he can. "If you're really doing this for our safety, Jon, then it's _really_ not necessary," she says, tense. "You know we're trapped here, we don't have a choice in any of this—what's the point of hiding stuff from us when we don't have any way out? What is pushing us away going to accomplish?"

Jon's jaw works back and forth, his expression unreadable. Tim, his heart thudding too hard and his breathing unsteady, almost expects him to apologize for a minute. (He isn't sure what he'd say if he did.) But in the end, all he says is, "I've got my reasons," all over again. 

"Seriously?" Sasha says, voice verging on bitter laughter. She shoves her glasses up to rub her forehead. Jon doesn't say anything. 

"Right. Fine," Tim says, fixing his shoulders in place. "If that's all you've got to say… I'm taking a few days leave. Effective immediately." 

Jon nods tensely. "Fine. Take the time. You all deserve it—I'll clear the extra time with Elias."

"Do whatever you want," Tim says, and he turns and walks for the door, hands tensing automatically like he's going to punch something. He can't bring himself to care anymore. Sasha moves for the door with him, like it isn't even something she needs to think about. 

"Tim, Sasha…" Jon tries one more time before they exit. "I'm sorry about this. I am. And I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."

He almost sounds sincere. Maybe that's what makes Sasha look back at the door. 

Tim doesn't look back at all. He shoves the rest of the way out, heads straight for his desk and grabs his coat, and when Martin asks with legitimate concern what's happened, all Tim can think to say is, "Come on, Martin. We're going for a drink."

\---

Sasha explains everything to Martin, shoved in the corner booth of a pub they've never been to before. Tim doesn't think he has the energy. By the end, Martin looks as stunned as Tim has felt. "So we're… we're really trapped there," he says faintly at the end, hunched over the table, staring into his glass. 

"Yes," Sasha says grimly, and she pats his hand a little. "I mean, I guess we figured that was the case because Jon couldn't quit, or at least I did. But it's still a shock to hear."

" _I_ didn't figure that," Tim mutters. He's been sketching absently on a napkin the entire time Sasha's been talking, sketching that gave way to scribbling that nearly rips the paper. Now he just sets the pen down too hard. "I didn't figure that at all. I thought that maybe when we all got what we wanted from this, we could just—go and move on with our lives, maybe. Live. Be happy." 

Sasha bumps her knee against his under the table, in a small gesture of comfort, and Tim is grateful for that. Martin's looking at him like he's not sure what Tim's talking about, and it's only then that Tim remembers he hasn't told Martin yet. (Martin _or_ Jon. But he's not going to be chomping at the bit to let Jon in on this part of his life, not now. Maybe not ever.) Maybe he should tell Martin; Martin told him about his faked CV, that's probably a secret that puts them about even. 

"I just can't believe he wouldn't tell us," Sasha says quietly, pushing hair away from her face. She took it out from the ponytail on the way out of the Institute, and now it's wild around her face in the way it gets when she's tired. 

"I can," Tim mumbles. He turns the laminated menu over, but there aren't any faces on it, not like the pub they usually go to. He can remember that night months ago when he covered the face of the person on the menu so Elias couldn't watch them. It doesn't seem funny anymore. 

"I don't think he hid it on purpose, o-or to be mean or anything," Martin says tentatively. "I mean, something like this…"

"How's it any different than the other stuff he's hidden from us, Martin?" Tim snaps, harsher than he should, and pushes his fingers into his hair. "How is it? Is it just because it relates to whether or not we can leave the horrible death Institute that has us trapped?"

"Yes, actually, that was my thinking," Martin says, not quite snapping, but definitely tense. "You're right, he should've told us, but I don't—"

"You don't have to always stick up for him, Martin," says Tim roughly. "Especially not when he's the biggest prick to…"

"Stop it! Both of you, stop it," Sasha says, too firmly for either of them to argue, holding out her hands as if that can stop them from slinging words at each other. "This is accomplishing nothing, and we can’t push each other away. We need each other in this; none of us should have to do this alone."

Tim swallows hard and looks at his shoes. Martin says, "You're right, Sasha. I… I'm going to go, but thank you guys for telling me. It's… a good thing to know." 

He stands, shoving away from the booth, and Sasha says quietly, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Martin." 

They stay in the booth even after Martin has left, crammed in the corner with their drinks. Tim tries to say something to Sasha after Martin leaves—maybe an apology, even though he should really be apologizing to Martin—but all Sasha says is, "Let's get roaringly drunk, Timmy. I know I could use it." And so they do.

It's well after midnight when they decide to leave. Sasha calls an Uber, and then turns to Tim and says, "Can I stay at yours? I'm too exhausted, and your place is closer…" and all Tim can do is nod. He doesn't complain when Sasha climbs into bed beside him at his flat, either. This is sort of their normal routine, when Martin isn't sleeping in the other room; Sasha hates his couch, and they've reached this sort of familiarity in the time since their so-called ill-advised hookup. It only phases Tim a little now. 

"Sash, I'm sorry," he says later, after the lights are off but before he's mostly asleep. "About today. I… took things too far, I think."

"Mmm, maybe," Sasha says blearily, under her mess of dark hair, "but I can't blame you. I was upset, too."

"You didn't want to leave, though, did you?" Tim whispers. "Not really. You… you've been more invested in this than me _or_ Martin. You want to know what's happening."

Sasha nods a little, rolling towards him. "I mean, yeah. I do. I do. Gertrude… wanted me to do this, and I can't shake the feeling that I should have gotten to. But… I didn't want to stay forever." Her eyes are bigger without her glasses, wide and dark in the already dark room. "I wanted a-a way out if we needed it. Didn't want t'be trapped."

Tim nods back. He doesn't want to be trapped, either. Sasha reaches under the comforter and finds Tim's hand, squeezes it hard. "We need to stick together, Tim," she tells him firmly. "Us and Martin… and maybe even Jon. Can't get separated in all this. We'll be stronger if we're together."

 _Fat fucking chance Jon will stick anywhere near us,_ Tim thinks, but he doesn't say that out loud. What he says is, "I'll stick with you," looking at Sasha even though he can only see the outline of her face in the dark, and really really meaning it. 

"I'll stick with you, too," Sasha says, words muzzy at the edges, and she bumps her head gently against his before lowering it, the room going quiet between them. 

She's curled up against his shoulder, their hands tangled up and her hair spread all over both their faces, and Tim doesn't move an inch. He just holds onto her hand and lies there and thinks, _I am in love with you,_ thinks, _I wouldn't have quit without you, if I could have quit in the first place. I wouldn't have left unless you did, too._ Maybe it's because he's drunk, but he isn't afraid to think these things; he isn't _._ He wants to leave more than he'd ever realized—he only ever came for Danny, which should be enough to stay, but the sickening feeling of being trapped somewhere that will probably kill him is so much worse than imagined. But he doesn't think he could leave Sasha behind. Or Martin, or maybe even Jon before he turned into a giant asshole, but definitely not Sasha. _Especially_ not Sasha. They've been in this together the whole time. They tried to shield each other surrounded by Prentiss and worms in the Archives, huddled on the floor in a defensive heap with Jon. They have matching scars to show what they've been through together. He loves her, even if it'll never go deeper than friendship, and he doesn't think he could leave her, and he thinks about leaning down and kissing her because he's wanted to for so long, but he's drunk and tired and he's not the love interest, so he just squeezes Sasha's hand and shuts his eyes. 

He wakes up hours later to Sasha shaking beside him. Making small sounds in her sleep. "Oh, fuck," Tim mutters, still mostly asleep. "Sash, wake up.” She turns towards him in her sleep, scraping a hand against the mattress, and he says louder, “It's okay, you're just dreaming, wake up!" 

He shakes her shoulder a little until she jolts awake, quivering beside him. "Tim?" she says, voice wavering. 

"I'm here," says Tim, without hesitation. "It's just a dream. It's okay."

Sasha shudders a little, shaking her head and rubbing wildly at her eyes. "Goddamn nightmares," she mutters, voice only slightly steadier. "I-I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Don't worry about it," Tim says immediately. "I—are you okay? Was it the Artifact Storage nightmare again?"

Sasha nods, fumbling for her glasses and shoving them on. "It's usually pretty standard every night, but it's been… different, lately. In the dreams. I can't leave the room. And I can hear something there, in the dark. Something's watching me."

Tim shudders automatically, on instinct. He hates fucking being watched; every day in the Institute feels like being watched. "D'you know why… why you keep having this nightmare? Is it something from the statements, maybe?"

"That stupid table from the Amy Patel statement," she says through gritted teeth. "Who knew it would have this kind of effect on me? I work in a fucking archive full of nightmares, and _this_ is what bothers me?"

There's something odd about what Sasha's saying, something Tim can't quite shake. "Sasha," he says gingerly, "you don't… you don't think this is another Prentiss thing, do you? These dreams? One of these fears maybe… targeting you?"

"No," Sasha says too quickly, but she doesn't sound entirely sure. "No, they're… they're just dreams. That's all." She settles back in the bed, draping an arm over her eyes. "I… my head is killing me," she nearly whispers. "But I… don't think I can go back to sleep."

Tim passes her the television remote without speaking; he doesn't mind sleeping with it on. She shoots him a grateful look and begins flipping channels, blue-white light filling the room. 

Tim doesn't go back to sleep either. They lay in bed and flip channels without talking. And Sasha doesn't go back to work after all, at least not that day. Tim would be lying if he said he wasn't glad for that. He thinks they could both use some time off, anyway.

\---

Jon doesn't go home after the confrontation with Tim and Sasha. He stays late, late enough that he's starting to think about that cot in the storage room, and he looks through Gertrude's laptop. Tessa Winters, the woman with the statement about the computer ghost, helped him get into it, and he feels a little guilty about not outright asking Sasha for help, but he tries to tell himself that this is more efficient, getting help from someone who has a lot of experience in computers. 

It doesn't really work. 

Jon wasn't lying when he told Tim he wouldn't apologize for the distance he's put between them. Any attempt to keep them all safe seems to be worth it, in his opinion. But he knows he fucked things up by hiding what Elias said, the fact that they apparently can't quit, and the guilt from that is worse than his guilt over anything he said the night of the break-in. The hurt, angry looks on Sasha's and Tim's faces keep appearing in his mind over and over again, the sense of betrayal there—and he hadn't seen how Martin had reacted before Tim and Sasha pulled him out, but he assumes it's more of the same. They weren't this upset other times he deserved it—after Prentiss or the first Michael encounter. Not this betrayed. 

Maybe he should feel reassured that he's apparently alienated them further. Maybe this will be enough so that the next time something comes after him (since this will apparently be a reoccurring thing), they'll probably be somewhere else. Somewhere safe. But Jon's not sure how much use that will end up being if they're all trapped here. If they can't leave anyways.

(Distancing himself was always supposed to be a method of keeping the three of them safe, even if it causes something of a rift. But Jon's not sure if he ever really meant to make them hate him.)

It seems like a ridiculous thing to linger over, so Jon tries to forget it. He pokes through Gertrude's laptop, reads through travel records, Internet shopping history, attempts to buy Leitners. Gertrude ordered a lot of inflammatory material that Jon guesses relates back to the conversation at the end of the tape, about burning the Archives. That seems to have been a primary goal of hers. There's nothing overly obvious about the different fear entities, or Elias, or anything like that, of course. Nothing that seems to be of very much use aside from figuring out the type of person Gertrude Robinson was. 

Between frustration and lingering guilt, it's too difficult to do any of this for very long, and Jon ends up passed out on his own desk sometime after midnight. He only wakes up hours later, at the clatter of a mug on his desk. "Sorry, sorry!" Martin says immediately, fumbling and stepping back. "Thought you might like some caffeine. You—I didn't mean to wake you, although you really shouldn't sleep at your desk…"

"Martin," Jon says blearily, sitting up and shoving away his glasses to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "What… what are you doing here?"

Martin looks a bit dumbstruck at that. "It's… after nine," he says gingerly. "I've been here for a bit…"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant…" Jon shakes his head a little, blinking away the fog of sleep. "Tim said he was taking a couple of days. After… yesterday. I thought you and Sasha would, too."

"Oh." Martin chews at his lower lip in a nervous sort of way, stepping back from the desk. "Oh, well, uh, Tim and Sasha aren't here. So I guess they stayed in."

"Oh, right. And you, um. You came in," says Jon, swallowing roughly. 

"Yeah, well. What else am I going to do?" Martin says, shrugging a little. "Not much reason to stay home, I guess." He's not smiling at Jon, nothing like that. But the look on his face… it's not quite like Tim and Sasha were looking at him earlier. Less betrayal. Maybe just sadness. 

Jon isn't sure, but he suddenly finds himself unable to take the silence, and is blurting, "Martin, I'm sorry," before he can think about it. Martin looks up at him, almost stunned, and he says, "For the… I shouldn't have hidden that from all of you. I'm sorry."

Martin swallows. "I… yeah, you shouldn't have," he says quietly. "But… it wasn't your fault. That we're stuck here. It's not your fault."

Maybe not his fault about Martin—Elias actually suggested he be transferred along with Sasha and Tim. But Jon asked Tim and Sasha to come here with him. They came with him because he asked. It's absolutely his fault. "Still," he says, throat thick. "I am sorry."

"Oh, uh, thanks," says Martin, a bit awkwardly, but there seems to be sincerity there. He half smiles, shifting in place, and shrugs. "Hey, so we can't quit. We can still get fired, right? You think Elias would care that I lied on my CV?"

"Somehow I doubt Elias is in the business of firing employees that are basically hostages," Jon murmurs, in the moment before what Martin said sets in. "Wait, y-you lied on your CV?" 

"Oh. Uh, yes." Martin's face flushes a bit. "Just about… I don't have a degree. I… I was seventeen, my mum, she had—she had some problems, and I ended up dropping out of school trying to support us. I tried everything but nowhere was hiring, so I just kind of started to lie on my application, sending them out to just about anywhere. For some reason my lie about parapsychology got me an interview with Elias and—and then a job here." He's staring down at the floor embarrassedly. "But most of my employment details are made up. I’m only twenty-nine."

"Oh," Jon says, a little dumbfounded. Definitely unsure of what to say. 

Martin shrugs. "No harm in telling you now, right? Since I can't be fired?"

"I… I wouldn't have fired you for that," says Jon. He isn't immediately sure whether not that is true, at least not at the beginning, but after everything with Prentiss… _before_ everything with Prentiss, perhaps. He's clearly been misjudging Martin for a while, but firing him for being under-qualified seems extreme even for their initial months in the Archives. 

"Oh. Well, thank you." Martin's face is still red; he rubs absently at the back of his neck. "I should probably get to work. You know… keep looking at that computer case." 

"Right." Jon looks down at his mess of a desk. At the mug of tea. "Well, take your time. It'll be a bit of a haul without Tim or Sasha to help."

"I'll let you know what I find," says Martin. 

He closes the door behind him when he leaves. Jon jabs the power button and blinks at Gertrude's laptop blearily, still mostly asleep. It's nice, he thinks, to know that at least Martin doesn't hate him. Even if he probably has the most cause out of all of them to hate him.

\---

Maybe this should be a surprise, but the revelation that they're all trapped doesn't do anything to dissuade Sasha from digging into things. If anything, it makes her more determined. 

Between researching statements alongside Martin and Tim, Sasha buries herself into outside research. Mostly into the tunnels, although she spends a little time on Gertrude—the Mary Keay tape Jon let them listen to is still at the back of her mind. She reads about Robert Smirke and the Millbank Prison. She digs through the library. She walks a wide berth around the door to Artefact Storage and avoids the urge to shudder every time she passes. And she starts exploring the tunnels when she stays late. 

(It's all a ploy to avoid nightmares. Anything to avoid the nightmares. They're getting worse and worse. On the nights Sasha doesn't work late—even _she_ gets tired of work, at least more often than Jon does—she ends up staying up half the night watching TV, at Tim's flat or her own. She sleeps a little better at Tim's. She isn't sleeping much at all.)

Sasha walks the tunnels, whenever she can get down there without encountering Jon. (She's not in the mood for another one of his lectures; she's been habitually avoiding him alongside Tim, trying harder to avoid him than she did after the break-in.) She doesn't remember much from her first real journey into the tunnels—stumbling blindly around half-high on CO2 fumes—but since then, she's got enough experience to recognize a few things, when the walls don't move. She's looking for Leitner, she supposes, if anything; it seems like he could answer their questions, considering he's _on the tape._ It seems like the sensible thing to do, considering everything, even if Jon is opposed; Sasha's definitely not letting that affect whether or not she looks for Leitner. She walks the tunnels and walks the tunnels, keeps an eye out for eerie books, or an older man who looks like the photos she dug up on Google, but she doesn't find much. 

"What the hell could be down there?" she comments to Tim and Martin one day, crowded around coffee in the break room. "Something like Michael, maybe? What else could make the walls move?"

"Who knows," Tim says, maybe a little tiredly. He's been pretty on edge since everything with Jon, especially at work; when they hang out at night, he's normal Tim, but he stays in a pretty consistently bad mood at the Institute. Sasha can't even blame him. He never stays late with her, although he gently tries to discourage her from staying late sometimes, and she never asks. 

"I mean, we know Leitner was down there at _some_ point, but that's not proof that he lives down there or anything." Sasha taps her pen absently against the table. "He could have a secret entrance, for all we know. Wherever it is, he's been hiding all this time. But that doesn't answer the wall-moving question."

"What, you haven't heard about Leitner's _magical wall_ powers?" Martin says, more good-natured than Tim, stirring his mug a little too hard. They both laugh a little at that, and Sasha cracks a rare smile across the table at him. 

Martin's sort of her ally in all this, with what little that entails. He's not staying late or exploring the tunnels with her or anything, but he's willing to talk about it all, and he's the one who's listened to most of the Gertrude tapes with her. He's also the only one in the office not openly avoiding Jon (who is still avoiding them, and Sasha's head is spinning from all the avoiding). So Sasha reports her finds to him rather than Tim or Jon, maybe in some misguided way to make sure people are aware of what she’s doing without actually having to tell anyone but Martin. There's not much to offer, at least not initially, until a night in January when she finds a room in the tunnel. There's nothing much in it, except for chairs, but Sasha's much more interested in the evidence that something was burned there. 

"Seriously?" Martin says when she reports this in the break room the next morning, over the muffins she grabbed from the coffee shop before coming in. (Sasha likes to think she's allowed her small pleasures in life, especially considering how shitty it's been lately.) "What d'you think it was?"

"Some sort of book for sure. I could tell. I think I know which one, too." Sasha pulls up the photo on her phone of the visible quote she managed to make out and shows it to Martin. "I Googled it. It's from _The Key of Solomon_. Just the thing to find burnt in a creepy labyrinth under a haunted Institute, right?" She grins.

"That does sound about right, yeah." Martin sighs, gulping back a mouthful of his drink. "Who do you think burned it? Leitner, maybe? Or Gertrude? Or some other tunnel beast?"

Sasha laughs a little, rubbing under her eyes, halfway considering napping at her desk. (She doubts she's going to have nightmares sitting five feet away from Martin and Tim in a lit office, and it's not as if she can be fired.) "Who knows? Any of those would make sense, right?"

"Right." Martin sighs again, pulls the wrapper off a muffin. "Well, let me know if you find anything else, yeah? I could… come with you one night, if you want."

"Sure. Sure, if you want to. I don't want to, like… forcibly drag you on a horrible tunnel adventure, you know." Sasha would love the company, but she doesn't know how much Martin wants to go into the tunnels. She knows Tim's not keen on it. She yawns, shoves her glasses back on.

"Yeah," Martin says quietly. They sit in quiet for a minute, sipping their drinks, before Martin adds, "Should we… maybe tell Jon?"

Sasha blinks down at her coffee, swallows back the hard lump in her throat. She wishes she didn't feel so hurt about this—she hates lurking around the office with her back constantly to Jon, like a hurt animal licking their wound. It's just… before all this, before Prentiss, she would've called Jon a friend. (A _good_ friend, one of the closer ones she has.) "You can, if you want," she says. "I'm not going to." And Martin doesn't say anything to that.

Sasha keeps exploring the tunnels. She goes through all the legitimate statements they've researched and tried to organize under their pathetically formed categories, looking in particular for ones that sound like whatever Gertrude and Mary Keay mentioned in that one tape. (The End.) She does some low-level Internet stalking of Gertrude without finding much. (The break-in to her apartment was reported, but it's been long enough that Sasha isn't really worried about being arrested.) Someone comes in and gives a live statement about the London Underground, and Sasha and Martin dig into it. Jon stops at Sasha's desk with an abrupt warning about taking the Victoria line to and from work, because apparently that's the one that the statement-giver (Karolina Górka) took and got buried alive. Sasha doesn't say much to Jon in that moment aside from a curt, "Thanks," but she vows to start taking cabs and Ubers when she works late. 

She keeps dreaming about Artefact Storage, and she keeps avoiding it, but sometimes when she's leaving late, or walking the hallways alone, she finds herself lingering at the door, one hand extended towards the doorknob like she's going to open it. She hasn't yet, but it's starting to scare her. Really scare her. She digs out the Amy Patel statement and rereads it and rereads it, trying to piece together the table, and the living pipe, and the person who was not Graham. She spends too much time lingering over Graham Folger himself. Wondering what was causing him to eat his notebooks, all the odd behavior. Wondering how that thing took his place. Wondering what happened to him afterwards. Where do you _go_ when you're not you?

Tim is worried about her. She can tell. He isn't hovering or smothering her or anything, but he keeps giving her those long sympathetic looks all the time. Almost sad looks. Mostly at work, because Sasha mostly feels totally normal when it's just the two of them (or even them and Martin) after work. She laughs a lot easier, she sheds the odd aura of the nightmares. She feels more at ease, more like herself. She craves these nights more and more, starts making more excuses for them to hang out. If Tim's sick of her, he never says a word. 

The worry doesn't fade, though, and it starts to invade even the happier moments in the evenings. One night, they're on one of Sasha's couches, watching a movie, and Sasha dozes off in the middle. Which is completely unlike her, but she's genuinely exhausted; her sleep schedule is still shit. When she wakes up, Tim's looking over at her briefly with concern, and he touches her shoulder with the tips of his fingers and whispers, "Sash, are you okay? You… you've been working really hard… a-and all these nightmares, and that place… that place will eat us alive, Sasha." 

"I'm fine. 'M… just tired. But 'm fine." Sasha yawns, rubbing at her eyes. "I wanna see this through."

"I know." Tim sighs. "You would've been a great Archivist, Sash. A million times better than that prick. But… I'm still really fucking glad it wasn't you."

"Thank you." Sasha rolls towards him without really knowing why, landing half on his lap, her cheek against his stomach. She probably shouldn't do this, but she can't bring herself to roll away. (It's _Tim,_ it's just Tim.) She's got one arm half around his waist and she speaks into his shirt in that tired way that's almost drunkness; she _really_ needs to sleep. "I'm okay, Tim, really. I just… I need to do this." For Gertrude, she thinks, even though she barely knew her. For Jon, even though he's an ass. For herself. 

"I know," Tim says again, and his hand is suddenly in her hair. He sounds sleepy, too. "You stick with me, I stick with you, right?"

Sasha fumbles for her glasses and pulls them off, presses her face back into Tim's t-shirt. (One she bought for him this Christmas. A very hilarious t-shirt.) "Right," she says, shutting her eyes. "Right, right. You 'n me. That’s how we do this." And she thinks after that she falls asleep, because when she wakes up, she and Tim are still both sprawled on her couch. Good thing her couch is about a million times more comfortable than Tim’s.

(She sleeps better than usual that night. It feels like a victory. They get coffee the next morning, and Tim's his usual slightly grumpy self at work, but it's mostly aimed at Jon. At the end of the day, he's left a post-it note on her desk with a folded-up piece of tape, the word _US_ written above it. Sasha grins at that, can't help it. She sticks it in her desk drawer and manages not to worry about whether or not Tim is still in love with her.)

\---

The Maxwell Rayner ordeal is surprisingly stressful for Jon, even though he's barely involved in any of it. Between Basira's call beforehand, where he advises her to use torches, and the statement she gives in the aftermath, the whole situation leaves Jon on edge. He _likes_ Basira; he hadn't really realized that before, but he does. They get along fairly well—Tim's ridiculous romance jokes aside—and she's been extremely helpful with all this, and she's probably the closest thing he has to a friend, after pushing away Sasha and Tim and Martin. (Maybe Martin qualifies as a friend, since he seems the least mad about all this, but Jon still feels like he shouldn't get too close. Since Martin is still trapped here, after all.) He's genuinely relieved that she's okay when it's all over. 

Basira's statement actually provides something of context for some of the statements Jon's dug into; Jon's not sure how much, but he's guessing that all of the other statements that mention Maxwell Rayner or The People's Church of the Divine Host (the Robert Montauk statements, among other things) are probably connected. And that they probably have something to do with the dark. (Jon's still lingering over his suggestion to bring torches, the way it sort of seemed to come out of the blue. He could attribute it to remembering everything he'd already known about Rayner and the cult, but that was awfully fast remembering. And a part of him can't stop wondering if it's related to the Archivist stuff Gertrude mentioned. The larger than life stuff. It's impossible to be sure.) Basira talks about the attempt to arrest Rayner for the kidnapping of a twelve year old. Apparently Rayner died, along with another police officer, who was apparently killed by Natalie Ennis (another name Jon recognizes). But the part that Jon lingers over is the description of the stuff that had come out of Ratner's mouth and gone towards the kid. Tried to overtake him. Jon can't decipher what it means, but he figures it's significant, that darkness itself is significant, and he makes a note to group this statement with the other statements that relate to Rayner or creepy dark things in general. 

The most significant information he gets from Basira's statement, however, is the news that she's apparently quitting the police force. That she's come to tell him that. It makes sense, even if Jon is a little surprised; Basira has definitely been through a lot there. He's a little disappointed, though—undeniably a selfish reaction, but one that feels valid; he'd appreciated having someone with Basira's connections as an ally. He's sure this inevitably means the end of access to the Gertrude tapes, as well as information on Section 31. He asks if she's really quitting, still in disbelief, and she says, "Yeah. And you should too. This place… It’s not right."

Jon has to hold back a bitter little laugh at that. He's not going to bother trying to explain. "Yeah," he mutters. "Yeah, I should." 

Basira is most of the way to the door before Jon speaks again, blurting without thinking, "Basira, wait. What about the tapes?"

She turns towards him momentarily, something like disbelief or maybe disgust on her face. "What?"

"The tapes. Fr—from Gertrude’s case." He knows he probably should let it go, but he can't bring himself to; they need more information about Gertrude, about what she was doing. "Is there any way I can—"

Basira leaves in the middle of his sentence without answering, effectively saying no right then and there. The door closes hard behind her. Jon guesses he has his answer. 

The lack of tapes from Gertrude is disappointing, although it's not the only lead left in all this. There's still Gertrude’s laptop, although Jon still hasn't found much there. There's still the tunnels—he's been exploring them on the nights Sasha isn't down there (he's considered offering to go along with her for safety reasons, but he doubts she wants to spend more time with him), and he's sure based on trash and things he's found, as well as prior evidence from early explorations, that somebody is living in the tunnels. Maybe Leitner. (He knows Sasha thinks Leitner is down there, and that he might be helpful; he's overheard her talking to the others by accident.) Jon considers talking to Sasha about what she's found down in the tunnels, but it ultimately seems unfair after everything. She's angry at him, and she has a right to be, and he's hid things from her as well—he still hasn't shown her Gertrude's laptop. So he tries to have faith that he'll be able to find whatever Sasha herself has found down there. Tries to stay vigilant when it comes to making sure Sasha is safe, but doesn't snoop on her research; that doesn't feel fair. 

A few days after Basira's statement, Jon is considering the tunnels and Leitner and everything that's happened, and he actually remembers an idea he had when they first saw that the trap door had been opened. He had the idea to set up some sort of camera. He'd forgotten about it unintentionally, motivated by a strong urge to keep everyone away from the tunnels and a lack of desire to actually communicate with Leitner, but now—he wonders. It seems like Sasha and Martin are looking for Leitner, if he's even down there, which evidence seems to point to. And while Jon has no desire to have any sort of ongoing relationship with Leitner, he does have to admit (maybe a bit begrudgingly) that Leitner _would_ have answers. He knew Gertrude. He heard the tape. He could give them answers—explain the entities and how it all works, the rituals, maybe shed some light on the role of the Archivist in all this. If Leitner is the thing living (or spending a lot of time in) the tunnels, then it might be worth it to put aside his childhood grudge (although it is a valid grudge, Jon insists) and seek him out. 

But the first order of business would be to figure out if it even _is_ Leitner. So Jon goes with his original idea and finds a small camera that captures footage based on motion, puts it outside the trap door, and checks the footage after a week. The footage serves its purpose. Aside from Sasha going in and out, it also captures an older man coming out of the tunnels, rifling through the Archives, taking files. Leitner, Jon expects; it makes as much sense as anything. If anything, he's got an explanation now for how Leitner has been avoiding the lock, even if there's no explanation for _why._ The floor moves when Leitner emerges, not the door. It doesn't make sense, there's no other openings in that floor—Jon has checked—but the floor does move. Based on the footage, unless it's been interfered with somehow, that seems to be a fact. 

Even with what is essentially confirmation that Leitner is living in the tunnels (Jon supposes it could be someone else, but he doesn't know of any other older men who could be in those tunnels), there's still the question of what to _do_ with it. The logical step seems to be looking for Leitner, but for some reason, he can't bring himself to try. For one thing, he's been in those tunnels for months, and he hasn't seen any sign of Leitner. He would assume that it's likely that Leitner doesn't want to be found. And on top of that, as bizarre as it is, it feels wrong to go without Sasha. Jon's spent all this time trying to push them away or discourage them from looking into all of this, trying to keep them safe, but it hasn't worked, and it particularly hasn't worked with Sasha. She's too invested. She's been working so hard at all of this, looking for Leitner herself, and it feels wrong to cut her out of ultimately confirming he's there and trying to find him. It feels like another thing she might not be able to forgive. 

(Jon would be lying if he said he hasn't considered forgetting any attempts to push all of them away. It isn't working in the cases of Martin and Sasha, and it's going too far in the other direction the majority of the time. Creating a rift that he's not sure he can heal, with people he actually cares about. And it's selfish of him to think this way, when pushing them away was the _whole point_ , but it's still too hard, doing things this way. Hurting them all and being aware of it. Watching their efforts essentially amount to nothing. So, yes. He's considered calling it all off. 

But he inevitably chickens out of that, too. He's never said he wasn't a coward, and it's so hard to make any definitive decisions. Hard to know what to do next, what he's supposed to do in all this. Gertrude left him this tape and he's still stumbling blind with it; he'd hate to see how things would have played out without it.)

A couple of days after Jon checks the camera footage, Basira comes back, with a box of Gertrude's tapes. Not all of them, she says, but a decent majority. As many as she could get. Says she's done with the police, that she's angry with how they're handling the issue of Maxwell Rayner. Says she wants to be done with all of this. Jon wishes her well, genuinely. As much as he'll miss Basira and her assistance, the last thing he wants to do is to pull anyone else into this. It's a choking thing, trying to unravel this web, and Basira deserves to get out intact if she can. 

The box sits heavy on the corner of his desk, a dozen different stories he hasn't heard yet. Stories he isn't sure whether or not he should share. He's given all the other tapes to Sasha and Martin, but… well. He did _listen_ to the others first. 

As usual, Jon doesn't make a decision. And the tapes sit on his desk for a while after that. 

\---

One day in February, Melanie King comes back in to give a statement. She stops by Sasha's desk on the way out to say hello, which turns into getting coffee. It's sort of a relief to Sasha, to the point where she doesn't even mind leaving work early. ("Who cares? What's gonna happen—you going to get fired?" Tim jokes when she brings it up. Melanie looks pretty confused when they both laugh; Sasha decides to skip the explanation.) 

Sasha can't really remember the last time she just sat around and talked about nothing—all her conversations with Tim and Martin are too laced with seriousness, and she hasn't made many friends outside of work. It's nice to just sit around drinking coffee and swapping harmless ghost stories with Melanie, who seems to find it a relief, too. They sit there for way too long, and Sasha drinks too many espressos to keep from yawning. 

Eventually, the topic turns around to what Melanie's been working on lately. She offers a shortened version of the statement Sasha assumes she just gave Jon, tells her about the trainyard and the war ghosts and the ruining of her reputation, about India. The story makes Sasha instinctively nervous—it sounds too much like the horrible stories she hears on a daily basis—and she's tempted to encourage Melanie not to go, but she can't find it in herself to do it. So she listens instead, offers her own perspective on the matter, what little it ends up being. "It reminds me of some of the statements we've gone through in the Archives," she says. "War… statements. Jon's got us sorting them by category, or at least attempting to, and you'd be surprised how many fall under that."

"Ah, right," Melanie says with a halfway grin, poking her straw in her cup. "And how is work at the Archives? Your boss is as charming as usual."

"You saw Elias?" Sasha says almost automatically, because _boss_ has a pretty strong connotation in her mind with Elias/Jonah/whatever his name is. 

"Who? No, I meant Jon." Melanie snorts a little. "Even after Georgie vouched for him… how do you _stand_ that guy?"

"Hasn't been easy as of late," Sasha mutters, more out of honesty than anything else. "Uh, who's Georgie?"

"Georgie Barker. She does _What the Ghost,_ dunno if you listen… anyways, she used to date Jon years ago. Told me he wasn't always a giant prick."

"He's not… _always_ ," says Sasha, maybe out of loyalty, because a part of her still thinks of Jon as a friend. "Just has been lately."

"How so?" Melanie asks, like she's eager for gossip or something. 

Sasha can't tell her the whole story, of course—Melanie would probably think she's insane, war ghosts and all. And besides, it's probably not a good idea to get Melanie tangled up in this. Who knows what Elias will do. So she gives Melanie the watered-down version. "He's been all secretive. Hiding in his office. Not including us on projects. Stuff like that," she says. The memory of the argument following the revelation that Jon's known that they couldn't quit for a while is still hot in her mind. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't still a little angry about that. She could take the other stuff a lot easier if it weren't for that. 

"Ahhh. Sounds about right." Melanie twists a straw wrapper around her finger. "Any particular reason?" she adds curiously. 

"Stress. Heavy workload. I don't know. Our mutual boss is kind of a dick, so that doesn't help." (At the moment, Sasha can't say she cares whether or not Elias is watching her say these things. She doesn't really mind him knowing that she thinks he's a dick.)

Melanie laughs. "Is there anyone you work with who _isn't_ a huge dick? Sounds like there's a requirement that you managed to duck past."

Sasha laughs, too, a little. "Tim and Martin aren't bad at all—they're great to work with, actually. Maybe it's just an upper level thing. Get promoted, _then_ you turn into a dick."

"Sounds about right." Melanie sighs, crumpling her napkin at the corner of the table. "I dunno, maybe I'm crazy, but sometimes I think I would've been better off following my supernatural proclivities in the Magnus Institute direction. Don't get me wrong, I _still_ think you all could improve your methodology of sorting out what's worth actually listening to and investigating—no offense, of course—but it's so privatized compared to… I dunno, YouTube. Ghost hunting on camera certainly turned out to be a lot riskier."

"I can imagine," Sasha says, thinking of how upset Melanie had seemed prior to her statement, of the way her voice had shaken when relaying this stuff to Sasha. "Although I don't know if you'd be any happier working at the Institute," she adds, thinking of… well, the _everything_ about the job. If she could go back and steer Tim and Martin and maybe even Jon far away from the Archives, she would. "It's… not exactly luxury work."

"Not with all the people _you_ get to work with," Melanie says, making a face, and they both shift into laughter again. 

Sasha changes the subject by asking her what part of India she's visiting, and they spend the next hour getting back to ghost stories. (Normal ghost stories, mostly. Nothing from work.) The sky is dark by the time they leave the coffee shop, with a promise from both of them to do this again once Melanie is back from India, and Sasha can't help but feel hopeful at the prospect of doing this again. She loves Tim and Martin, and she even enjoys her job still sometimes despite the pure insanity of managing to like her job right now, but sometimes it feels like work is all she has anymore. Like it's invaded every part of her life. It's nice to have a friendship that has absolutely nothing to do with that. 

("Don't work too hard, James," Melanie says before they go, giving her a one-armed hug goodbye. "No offense, but you looked like you haven't slept in a week."

Sasha laughs and comes back with, "Well, I could say the same for you." Melanie looks exhausted, too, huge circles under her eyes that probably match Sasha's. It sounds nuts, but she senses a kindred workaholic obsessive spirit in Melanie. It sounds _really_ nuts, but she sort of thinks that Jon and Melanie might even get along if they'd pause long enough to stop sniping at each other.)

Sasha doesn't go back to the Institute after she leaves, even though she sort of wants to. She goes home, alone for the first time in a while, crawls into her bed and reads a book that has nothing to do with work and actually sleeps, dreamless, incredibly enough. 

When she wakes up, the nagging feeling is still there, just a little bit. The urge to get back to work and look for things. It should probably be more worrying than it is, but Sasha's honestly relieved when she's grabbed a coffee and is headed for the Institute again.

It's a Tuesday—Valentine's Day, weirdly enough—and Tim's out for the day on a follow-up interview with the guy from the endless ladder statement Jon recorded the other day. He lives a couple hours away, and Sasha was initially surprised that he even wanted the assignment, but Tim confessed it was more about getting out of the office for the day than anything. So it's just her and Martin. Sasha spends the morning doing some idle research on Melanie's statement, on the train yard where it all happened, but Melanie had enough background that there's not actually much to look into. 

It's a quiet day, until sometime after lunch, when Jon comes out of his office with a box and a laptop balanced on top of that. He walks straight over to Sasha's desk without breaking eye contact and sets the whole mess down, a move which Sasha's honestly unsure how to respond to. She just sort of stares at it. "Jon?" Martin asks, shoving over towards Sasha's desk in his chair. "What's going on?"

"I wanted to show you all this," Jon says, voice steady, looking straight at Sasha. "Sasha, I-I… thought you might want to see this. And I didn't feel like I should hide it anymore."

"Hide _what_?" Sasha says, maybe a little irritably. "What is this?" 

"It's… tapes. Some of the tapes found with Gertrude. Basira brought them by earlier. And Gertrude's laptop. It was under a floorboard in the office. There isn't much on it, not much that's helpful at least, but I thought you might like to see…"

"This is Gertrude's?" Sasha picks the laptop up, turns it over in her hand. There's no stickers or decals or any sort of thing to indicate that it belonged to Gertrude (although Sasha definitely doesn't think that's Gertrude's style), but it's undeniably hers. Sasha isn't sure how; a part of her just _knows_ , somehow, like holding it is enough. She sets it down and looks up at Jon in astonishment. "How long have you had this?"

"For a bit. For… too long. I… Look." Jon shakes his head, as if frustrated. "Sasha, Martin… I wanted to tell both of you that I'm sorry for how I've been these past few months. I… I can honestly say I had good intentions, but it was… unfair of me to hide so much from all of you. Or to be as cold as I was. I've been… reconsidering some things as of late, and I felt it was time to apologize to all of you. Tim, too, uh. Erm… where _is_ Tim?" Jon looks around the office like he's just now realized that Tim isn't here. 

"Out on assignment," Martin says, voice low. 

"Oh. Right." Jon clears his throat awkwardly, now looking at the floor. "Well. I'll apologize to him, too. I'm very sorry, to both of you."

Sasha swallows, pushing hair anxiously behind her ears. Unsure of how to feel in the moment, how to take this apology. "What is this stuff, Jon?" she asks, a sense of finality in her tone. "I assume you've looked at it all already… what have you found?"

"I haven't actually listened to the tapes. I was sort of… looking at them yesterday when Melanie came in, but I haven't… I was wrestling about what to tell you. And I decided that you should know about this." Jon takes a deep breath. "You've been looking for Leitner, right? I think I've found him. Or I saw him, at least. On camera footage."

"Camera footage?" Martin asks in disbelief. "Where? There isn't a camera down here, is there?"

"I set one up. Just a small one, by the trap door. And it caught someone coming in and out of the tunnels. Taking files from the Archives. I have good reason to believe it would be Leitner."

"Let me see it," Sasha says, immediately standing. 

So Jon shows them both the footage on his laptop. It's horrible quality, Sasha can tell, but it's enough to make out the man and what he's doing. The stolen files. The moving floor. The man's face, even, which Sasha can connect fairly well to the few pictures of Leitner she found on the Internet. "That's him," she says immediately. "At least it looks like it. I-I'm not sure who else it would be."

"How did he do that? That, that thing with the floor?" says Martin, voice wavering. "I don't understand how…"

"It's simple, Martin," Sasha says quietly, bumping her shoulder against his. "You called it. Magical wall-moving powers, remember?"

And then she turns and walks to her desk. She's got two torches in her desk, two large ones. She's thinking back to all those nights walking the tunnels, trailing through corridor after horrible corridor, getting lost half the time, looking for anything useful. Looking for Leitner, or at least confirmation he was down there. And now she has context. And she doesn't want to spend one minute more waiting to get answers. 

"Sasha? What, uh, what're you doing?" Martin asks, following her back to her desk. Jon might follow them, too, she isn't sure. 

"Going down there," she says, digging in her desk until she comes up with the torches. "Finding Leitner, I hope."

"Oh. Right now?"

"Yes. I don't want to wait. Leitner—if that's Leitner—was _on_ that tape. He knew Gertrude. He might know… he might know what she was planning. What she would've wanted _us_ to do." Sasha sets the torches on the desk and shuts the drawer firmly. "I don't want to wait for that," she says, looking up at Martin and Jon. "I don't even know if I'll _find_ him right away. But I want to start looking now."

"Sasha," Jon says, and Sasha is automatically annoyed for a moment, thinking that he is going to try and talk her out of it. But that isn't what he says. He says, "I thought I would… that is, would you be opposed to me coming along?"

Sasha blinks, taken aback. (Not _surprised_ , exactly; she knows Jon well enough to know that he wants answers as badly as she does. But still, taken aback.) "I… I thought you didn't trust Leitner," she says. 

"I don't trust Leitner. But I… I'm willing to put that aside if it means getting answers." Jon clears his throat, uncomfortable. "I would like to get answers. I'm tired of being in the dark."

Sasha twists her hair back and away from her face, not breaking eye contact with Jon. "I am, too," she says, matter-of-factly. Maybe even coldly. She's not sure she's forgiven Jon yet, not completely. 

They stand in silence for a moment before Jon speaks again. "Is that… are you agreeing to me coming along?"

"Sure." Sasha tosses him a torch, which he catches with a bit of surprise. "I know if I say no, you'll just go down on your own. And all of this 'getting hurt on your own' type of thing goes both ways, you know." 

"I'll come, too," Martin says, with more uncertainty in his voice, but enough conviction that Sasha knows he's serious. 

"Good," she says, genuine. She texts Tim quickly, mostly because she thinks he'd want to know. And if anything happens down there, it's probably good to have someone who is _not_ Elias in the know. "Let's get going, then? There's a real mess of corridors down there, as I'm sure you both know."

"Yes, I do know," Jon says, in that long-suffering-Archivist voice. He smiles at Sasha a little when she looks up. And against Sasha's better instincts, she smiles back. 

\---

It takes them the better part of three hours—by Jon's clumsy calculations, considering how weird time is in the tunnels—to find Leitner. 

It seems like it should have taken less time; between himself and Sasha and even Martin, he'd think they'd have enough knowledge of landmarks to find their way around. But they keep getting lost, or turned around, going in circles. Keep seeing eerie things or hearing odd sounds, which goes on for so long that Jon actually picks up a pipe, a meager attempt at having a defense outside of using a torch like a club. All three of them are plenty exhausted and irritated by the three-hour mark, and it's about when Martin points out they should probably go back and try another day that they realize they aren't sure which way back _is._ And that's when the walls start shifting around them and Jurgen Leitner walks out of a gap that wasn't there before. 

He knows Jon by name. He says, "I think it's time we had a talk." And the fact that Jurgen Leitner knows who he is doesn't even surprise Jon anymore. 

Sasha ventures tentatively, "Um… are you Jurgen Leitner?"

The man—Leitner—nods. He's got two books in his hands; Jon cranes his neck to see the title of the considerably larger one and reads _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_ on the spine. "And you're the assistants, I'm assuming?"

"Martin," Martin supplies, nodding. "And Sasha."

"That book," Jon says, motioning to it. Thinking of the cardboard children's book from twenty-odd years ago, how quickly it turned sinister. "That book, wh-what does it do?"

"Oh, it's an unexpurgated copy of Ruskin’s _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_. It gives an acute sense of the walls pressing in around you, and if consumed recklessly, will physically entomb the reader. Over the years, I have found that it interacts with Smirke’s architecture, and those tunnels specifically, in a more predictable way. By carefully reading specific passages in certain locations, I am able to exercise a degree of control over the substance of the tunnels."

"Move the walls?" Martin asks faintly. "You've been the one doing that?"

"Yes, that was me. It seemed like a reasonable tool to contain all of your exploring while I considered whether or not to make contact."

"And the other one," says Jon. It's too small to make out the title, but it's certainly there, a distinct sliver on top of the larger volume. 

"It's hardly a _book._ But it is entitled _A Disappearance_. If read cover to cover, it removes one from the world. I cannot say precisely what that means, only that the assistant I assigned to it, Jacob Feng, was never seen again. I have found, however, that reading only one or two words is sufficient to hide me from the prying eyes of your master."

"Elias," Sasha says suddenly. Like she's been waiting to say it. "We… we heard you on Gertrude's tape. The one she left for us. We know you were… hiding from him."

Leitner regards them with a bit of cool surprise. "So the tape was found? That is good. I was always uncertain whether or not Elias Saw the tape and kept it from you.”

"We were hoping you could clarify some things for us," Jon says firmly. "Gertrude's tape… while very appreciated, it did not offer much in the way of… clarification."

"About the powers she mentioned," Sasha adds. "The entities, gods, whatever."

"And the rituals," Martin adds. "And… Elias? Elias being Jonah Magnus?"

"All of it," says Jon. "Any of it you can explain. We've been trying to piece together what Gertrude said—the entities and all of that—but we haven't gotten far. We would… appreciate your help."

"You'd like me to make a statement, then?" Leitner says. "Unravel all the explanations? And here I thought Gertrude left enough that you'd be able to piece things together on your own." He addresses Sasha directly: "She had high hopes for you, specifically. Sasha, was it?"

Sasha's face turns a little red. "We've been doing our best," she says coldly. "Which isn't very much between Jane Prentiss, a-and Michael, and Elias blocking us at every turn. You were working with Gertrude, right? Helping her? Why wouldn't you help us?"

"I can help you. I figured that you would come looking for me sooner or later, although I wasn't sure how much you would know at that point. And I'll admit, I have my own need for the resources in the Archives."

"The files you took," Jon says. "What were you looking for?"

"Files of Gertrude's. Information on how to stop the Unknowing. I searched the place, and I haven’t located them yet, so I assume Elias may have taken them when he killed her. I'll need your help to get into his office if that’s the case."

"W-what's the Unknowing?" Martin asks. 

"One of the rituals Gertrude described in her tape. The ritual of the Stranger, to be specific. It's going to be occurring soon. And we both feared its intended effect on the world."

"The Stranger, that's… one of the entities?" Sasha says, pressing. "Which is that? What do they do?"

"The Stranger, also called I-Do-Not-Know-You. You'd probably be familiar with its appearances as the Not-Them, or the Circus of the Other."

Sasha goes a little pale at this. "Tim," she says faintly, and turns back towards Jon. "He'd want to hear this. We have to call him. He'll want to be here for this."

"Er, Sasha, not that I don't readily appreciate Tim's presence," says Martin, "but are you sure? He… hasn't shown much interest in all of this in… a while."

"I'm sure. He'd want to know. He needs to be here." Sasha turns towards Leitner and says, "Can you wait? For us to call our friend? He's—he works with us, he's trapped here, too, he deserves to hear this."

"We'll have to go back to the Archives to call Tim," Jon points out. "Absolutely _no_ signal down here."

Leitner actually looks a little uncomfortable at that suggestion. “I’m not sure entirely how much time we have…”

“This won’t take long. Not at all,” says Sasha briskly. “We’ll just need to go up and call Tim, and then you can explain all of this. Make your statement and all that.”

“And then you’ll help me get those files back,” Leitner says. It’s not a question.

“I mean, if they’re part of a ritual to end the world,” Martin says, “then yes. Right? That’s important?”

“Yeah, that’s important,” says Sasha. She jabs a finger at Leitner’s book—although she doesn’t touch it, to Jon’s relief. “Can that book help us get back?”

So the four of them head back, more or less following Leitner, since apparently he’s messed with the tunnels enough to probably know them well. It’s a long walk, long enough that Jon starts delving into questions. (Questions mostly focused around Leitner’s past—nothing that seems too important for Tim to hear.) He records it all, too, with the tape recorder he’s more or less gotten into the habit of carrying around. Leitner talks about his start in collecting horrible books, his experiences, what eventually led him to start hiding back in the 90’s. How he apparently sacrificed multiple assistants to all of this. (Jon shudders a little at that one and avoids Sasha’s and Martin’s eyes. The dismissiveness in Leitner’s tone is what bothers him most, the callousness of how he addresses it—and the memories he has of everything with Prentiss and prior, Martin’s captivity, Sasha’s encounter with Michael, all of it. This seems like a doomed profession, and he threw out his only plan to try and protect his assistants by letting Sasha and Martin come along. All he can think is he never wants to be able to say anything like that about them. He wants to keep them safe.) 

Jon’s head is spinning by the end of Leitner’s story, but he keeps asking questions, keeps prodding Leitner even through the pointed glares Sasha keeps throwing his ways. Leitner explains, briefly, his affiliation with Gertrude (he mentions her assistants in a way that throws Jon back to when Elias told him Gertrude was never as concerned about her assistants as he was for his), and their intentions to destroy the Archives, confirming their suspicions about the end of the tape. By the time they reach the trap door, Sasha seems angry that Jon’s let Leitner talk this much, and Jon is overwhelmed with all of the new information. (Martin seems as overwhelmed as he is, having walked back slowly and silently between Jon and Sasha the whole time.) Sasha motions towards the ladder pointedly as an indication that they should go up and call Tim, but Jon’s not completely ready to step back from getting answers, even if it’s just momentarily while they wait for Tim to show up. (They have no idea where Tim is, he could still be talking to Stephen Walker for all they know.) “In the tape,” he says to Leitner, “Gertrude… talked about the rituals. To end the world. Like the Unknowing.”

“Yes, there’s that one, and others besides it,” says Leitner.

Jon swallows thickly, caught somewhere between instinctual embarrassment to lay these emotions bare in front of Sasha and Martin and the man behind a very specific childhood trauma, and the urge to know more. To know as much as he can, to avoid the horrible things waiting around the corridor. “Gertrude said I was one of those rituals,” he says tentatively. “As the Archivist. Do you… what did she _mean_ by that?”

“I believe that she meant just what she said,” Leitner says. “The rituals are intended to change the world in the image of the power you serve. You serve the Beholding, and you more or less serve Jonah Magnus. So you have the capabilities to… change the world as they intend.” 

Jon leans too heavily on the stone wall, holding back the sudden urge to throw up. “Jon?” he hears Martin say from somewhere beside him, and he waves it off. Has the sudden, inexplicable urge for a cigarette. 

“Jon, we should go,” Sasha says, not unkindly—her tone is gentler now. “We should go, and call Tim. We can settle this later.”

“Right,” Jon says faintly, and he goes for the ladder. “You should probably stay in the tunnels,” he says to Leitner.”

“I should probably check the Archives again, for the files. Just to be sure they aren’t down here,” Leitner says, almost contemplatively. “The book should hide me fairly well… and if Gertrude hid the tape well enough that Elias didn’t find it, then maybe…”

“Jesus Christ, it’s nearly seven,” Martin says suddenly, staring down at his phone screen. “The place should be empty by now.”

“Better for us, probably,” Sasha says, following Jon up the ladder and into the Archives. “Let’s just hope Elias is gone for the day.”

Jon doubts it, for some reason, but he doesn’t linger over that. He still needs a cigarette. He walks away from the trap door and through the office without looking back, putting down the pipe he hadn’t even realized he was still holding on Tim’s desk.

\---

Things happen so fast that it's hard to be sure—but Martin _swears_ they don't leave Leitner alone for that long. 

He and Sasha call Tim from the hallway, wanting him to come in, while Jon has a cigarette outside. They've agreed to wait and let Leitner explain to all of them at once. Easier to all get the same information. And then once they've gotten off the phone with him, Sasha suggests they go wait outside with Jon. 

So the three of them sit out on the front steps, Jon and Sasha smoking, Martin staring down at his hands. Turning Leitner's words over and over in his head. It's a lot to take, and they're not even _done_ learning things for the day. Jon looks as shaken as Martin feels, fingers nearly quivering around his cigarette, which he mashes out on the stone steps. His eyes flick over to Martin's briefly; Martin holds his gaze, trying to offer any semblance of reassurance, and resisting the urge to reach down and pat his hand or something like that. Jon doesn't look away, either, so they just sort of sit there looking at each other for a minute. Jon's eyes are dark and deep in some emotion Martin can't quite place. Maybe something like thankfulness. 

The air is freezing. He shivers, huddled up on the steps, and looks back at his feet.

(They don't even leave _Jon_ alone for that long. Not even that long, and Martin knows that Jon wouldn't do anything like this even if they left him alone for hours. But when they say that to the police, the police all think they're lying.)

Sasha explains things to Tim when he gets there and climbs out of his cab, as best she can without specifically mentioning Leitner; she just says, "We found something in the tunnels that we've been looking for, I think you'll want to see it." Tim miraculously seems to understand. (Probably helps that Sasha's the one actually explaining. Tim's the least mad at her.) He follows them down to the basement, winding through the empty halls; it's late in the evening, no one else should be here, unless they're working late. There's not much reason to avoid speaking out loud—except, of course, for their clairvoyant boss. Pretty hard to forget that one, Martin thinks bitterly. 

Sasha's more or less leading the way, half-reading what looks like the Jurgen Leitner Wikipedia article on her phone, so she gets to the door first, pulling it open with one hand. She looks up, inhales sharply. Her phone tumbles loudly from her hand and crashes to the floor. Jon—ahead of Martin and Tim in the corridor—says in a wavering voice, "Oh, god." 

"What?" Martin pushes forward, towards the open door, Tim behind him. "Jon, what is—" And that's when he sees the blood. 

Sasha's already moving to the prone form of Jurgen Leitner, nearly unrecognizable where he is laying on the ground. There is a lot of blood. And the pipe… the pipe that Jon had picked up, the one that he'd set down on Tim's desk when they'd walked through… Martin looks away abruptly, gulping back an overwhelming wave of nausea. _Oh god,_ he thinks, faintly. _Oh god oh god._

"Who, who—Jon, who the fuck _is_ this?" Tim stammers, sounding somewhere between furious and terrified. 

"Jurgen Leitner," Jon murmurs, his voice unbearably soft. "I don't—we _told_ him to stay in the tunnels. Why wouldn't he…"

"The files," Martin says, one hand over his mouth. He still can't look directly at Jurgen. "About the… Unknowing. He… he must have…" He said that they weren’t in the Archives, but then he acted like he wasn’t _sure_ at the end, as if he’d somehow changed his mind… Oh Jesus fucking Christ, did he come up because Martin said that it was late and the place was probably empty? He bends nearly in half, pressing his hand harder over his mouth.

"No pulse," Sasha says, and when Martin looks back, she's letting Leitner's wrist drop to the ground. "He… I think he… we're too late."

"Jesus Christ," Tim snaps, staggering back a few steps and pressing a hand to his face. "What do we… what the hell do we _do_?"

"Elias must have done this," says Jon muffledly. "Must have… _Seen_ us somehow… I don't… _Goddamnit._ " He reaches down and wrenches the pipe away from its bloody spot on the floor, throws it off to the side where it crashes loudly against the wall. It leaves smears of blood on his hands. Martin collapses into his chair, hand fully over his face now. 

"W-we should call the police," Tim says, crossing the room to Sasha's side, resting a hand on her shoulder. She's still crouched on the ground beside Leitner, hands hovering over him like she's contemplating CPR. Martin doesn't think CPR would work at this point. "W-we can tell them it was Elias…"

"Probably wouldn't believe us," Sasha says bitterly. "Jon's friend is gone, and that tall detective lady has it out for us."

"Well, we can't just _leave_ him here," Tim says desperately, scrubbing at the air with his free hand. "Jon? You got any bright new plans?"

"I-I… I don't…" Jon's still staring at the body in disbelief. "I should've… one of us should have _stayed with him_." Martin reaches out gingerly and touches Jon's elbow briefly, through his coat. 

"We should have," Sasha half whispers, leaning back, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. "Why didn't any of us think about it?" 

Tim squeezes her shoulder; Sasha shuts her eyes, like she's thinking. Jon seems to sag in place, rubbing a hand over his face. Martin looks away from the scene—away from the body—and says to no one in particular, "What do we do now?"

Behind them, there's a bump like someone has dropped something. And a startled yelp directly following that. 

The four of them whirl to find Rosie in the door, a file at her feet, paper fluttering around where she's dropped it. She's staring at them with abject horror. "Oh, _fuck_ ," Tim says. 

It's clear what Rosie thinks has happened—Martin can see that, even though the only thing his brain seems to be offering up is, _Why is she working late?_ —and as she takes tentative steps backwards, he blurts out, "Rosie, it's not what it looks like." She turns to run away just as Sasha tries: "Rosie—no, Rosie wait…" 

But Rosie is already gone, and the weird thing is that Martin can't even blame her. He'd probably do the same damn thing. She came down here and she saw Jurgen, saw the blood and the pipe—probably heard Jon throwing the pipe aside—and oh god, oh shit, she saw that Sasha and Jon have blood on their hands. Jon's fingerprints are all over that pipe, from just now and from before, and the police will come and what else are they _supposed_ to think? "Jesus Christ," Martin says, and he lets his face fall into his hands. 

Tim kicks the waste bin they keep by their desks. "Well, that's it," says Sasha, her voice thick and bitter. "We're going to prison, I guess. You think that's part of Elias's master plans? Shove us in prison?"

"No one's going to _prison_ ," Martin says, looking up a little urgently. "We'll—we'll just… w-we'll tell them what happened, four of us against them…"

"They'll just think we're in on it together. That we planned it in cahoots." Tim kicks the waste bin again. "Goddamn clairvoyant bastard murderer." 

Martin looks at Jon, who is staring down at his own hands like he's never seen them before. "No," he says, so quiet that it actually takes a moment for Martin to realize he's spoken. "No, they won't."

"Jon?" Sasha's paused in the process of wiping her hands frantically with Martin's tissues, glasses shoved up, staring at Jon incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's my fingerprints on the pipe," Jon says, looking up at them with a hard determination in his eyes. Martin _knows_ the determination, and he wishes it didn't scare him. "Sasha could have been trying to help him… _I'm_ the one they suspect for murder anyways; they think I killed Gertrude."

"T-they proved you didn't," Martin says. "The cameras…"

"That doesn't matter. They already think I'm a murderer. A-and if somebody here has to be…" Jon looks between the three of them like he's looking for permission. And then he moves towards the shelves, towards the trap door into the tunnel. 

"Jon, wait," Martin says abruptly, on his feet in seconds, following him towards the trap door. 

Sasha and Tim are behind him, and Sasha pushes past and catches Jon's arm in one fluid motion. "Jon, what the hell are you doing?"

"Tell them I did it," Jon half-blurts. "Or that you aren't sure, I don't know, but tell them you didn't. They'll believe you."

"And what, you get arrested?" Tim says, nearly snapping; Martin isn't sure if it's anger towards Jon or towards the idea itself. 

"N-no. No, I-I'm getting out of here," Jon says, breath whooshing out wearily. “Jurgen mentioned something about other ways out of the tunnels. I can get out this way.”

"If you run, that's practically admitting your guilt," says Martin. "J-just stay here, and we'll explain, and we…"

"They'll arrest all of us that way. I go, and they'll think it was just me." 

Jon moves for the trapdoor again, but Sasha still has hold of his arm. "Jon, come on, this is _crazy_ ," she says, a little manic, a little stern. "We can't just let you turn into a fugitive! You didn't do this, Elias did. We'll… we'll tell them the truth, like Martin said, and if they don't believe us…"

"No." Jon shakes his head. "I can't… you all don't deserve to take the fall for this. Just… I have to do this." He looks at them directly, right in the eyes, and Martin knows it's not, but he swears it feels like the first time he's done that in months. "I owe you all this, at least," Jon says quietly. 

And then he's moving for the tunnels again, pulling his arm out of Sasha's grip. Martin leans towards him, blurting all over again, "Jon, come on, you don't need to do this," but he doesn't look back. The trap door snaps shut behind him. Martin takes a step like he's going to follow Jon—and for a wild moment, he thinks he might—but Tim touches his shoulder before he can, pulls him back, and then it’s too late, he’s already gone.

Sirens are wailing in the distance, and Martin shuts his eyes, trying to figure out how this all happened so fast. 

\---

Two days after the murder, Jon records his own statement, about the Leitner he came across as a child, in Georgie's living room. (He isn't sure why he came here, aside from the fact that he had nowhere else to go. Aside from the fact that when he came up out of the tunnels and thought, _What friends could I even hide with,_ because he doesn't have any close ones at all aside from his coworkers who possibly still hate him, and then Georgie rose to the top of his mind.) It's an attempt to explain his suspicion of Leitner, and the way he’s perceived all of this, and his partial reasoning behind joining the Institute in the first place. And aside from that, he’s not sure. Attempt at processing things, maybe. Or maybe an attempt to reconnect with the others, strange as it is. 

It feels surprisingly good to get it all out, spilling everything to a tape recorder on Georgie’s couch with the cat sleeping across the room. He hasn’t told this story to anyone before, and it feels odd now, recording it with the knowledge that someone _will_ hear it. And it’s impossible to relive any of this without comparing it to the current situation, lingering over the guilt he’s carried with him all this time over not being able to stop what happened with the book. It’s the same guilt that’s influenced him in the months since the Prentiss attack. But clearly it isn’t enough. By the end, he’s got a lump in his throat, when he says, “It has made me reconsider my attitude to getting help.” He swallows hard and continues: “I have consistently kept the others at arm’s length, tried to deal with things myself and it… it hasn’t gone well. It… I’m sorry. Sasha, Tim, Martin… I’m so sorry.” He rubs a hand over his face, blinks at the whirring recorder and sighs. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away, or hidden anything from you. And you certainly have no cause to forgive me... but I wanted to apologize. I’m finished with that now. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to come back to the Institute, but… I want all of you to stay safe in the meantime." He swallows hard, reconsiders and adds, "…Which isn’t to say that you need to stay out of the tunnels or anything like that. I… I trust all of you. Do what you need to do.” 

Behind Jon, Georgie’s key clicks in the lock. Jon adds, “Stay safe,” again, in a quiet voice, and jabs the Stop button to end the recording. He’ll send it later. Send it through the mail. He can't risk delivering it in person, but he doesn't want to wait. Wants them all to hear it as soon as possible. 

\---

The Institute is closed for a couple of days after Leitner’s death. Crawling with police and all that. They’ve all got to go in and get interviewed about the whole thing by that scary detective lady who’s given a statement before—Martin’s surprised to realize he actually misses Basira. But aside from the interviews, there isn’t much to do. 

So they sort of cluster at Sasha’s flat, him and Tim. It’s a good enough place to do research, and that’s what Sasha is buried in—books and print-outs piled all over her coffee table. She wants to go back into the tunnel and try to find whatever Leitner had down there, although Tim is a bit skeptical (“Leitners seem pretty dangerous to me,” he says when prodded). Martin helps with the research because it doesn’t feel like there’s another choice; clearly there are a lot of things bigger than them on the horizon. They’ve gotten some new things from Leitner, but it’s not enough. And they need to find something to clear Jon’s name with—clear him for Leitner _and_ Gertrude, since Detective Tonner clearly thinks he did both. They can't just leave him out there to be arrested, or killed, or some horrible thing like that. (He hasn't been fired, he's still the Archivist, as far as they know, and now there's nothing keeping him safe.)

Martin still feels guilty for that, just letting Jon run off and take the blame. He should have followed, _would_ have followed if not for Tim's hand on his shoulder. He’s been telling the cops that Jon didn’t do it; he thinks Tim and Sasha have, too. But they think they’re just covering; their excuse of, “Jon was having a cigarette while we called our friend from the inside” is seen as a bad cover-up, even though they swear they were with him the whole afternoon _aside_ from that brief period. Maybe the cops _do_ think all of them are in on it, despite Jon's efforts; they were seen with the body, just like Jon was. And Elias probably isn’t helping things at all. 

But none of that changes the fact that they still let Jon run off by himself. “We should’ve gone _with_ him,” he said that first night, the night he crashed on Sasha’s second couch. “We shouldn’t have let him go off alone—it’s clearly dangerous. And we know he didn’t do it! If he’d just stuck around to explain…”

“It’s better that we didn’t go with him,” Tim had said—not unkindly, not towards Martin, but Martin suspects he hasn’t fully forgiven Jon yet. “If we’d gone with him, we would be suspected for murder, too. Rosie saw all of us with that body. It's a miracle they bought Sasha's story about having blood on her hands because she was helping Leitner. Although it is the _truth_." He’d sounded very put out about that. 

“It wouldn’t have helped if he’d stayed because they already suspected him in the first place, for Gertrude,” Sasha added, gentler, and maybe a little sad herself. “I don’t like it, either, but do you really think we could’ve stopped him? It’s _Jon_. He’s impossible once he gets an idea in his head.”

She wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t put Martin anymore at ease, although the next thing she said helped a little. “We’ll find some evidence that Elias did these murders, and clear Jon’s name up,” she’d finished. “And then he can come back. It’s not like he can really stay away, right? That’s not how the Institute works.”

“God, I’d really love to see our bastard boss get arrested,” Tim had said. “The bigger bastard boss, that is.” And that was more or less the end of it.

Martin goes home the third night, finally—he likes staying at Sasha’s, doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t know how long that can really last. Clearly this isn't a quick fit, and it'll probably be a bit before Jon comes back. They have to get back to normal life.

When he gets there, there’s a bulky envelope on his front step. No return address, but it’s addressed to Martin Blackwood in a familiar script. 

He nearly tears the envelope in half trying to get it open. There isn’t much inside—just a cassette tape, and a brief scrawled note that Jon hasn’t signed, but that’s clearly from him. It says, _Martin — Please share this with Tim and Sasha. Make sure the police don’t find any of this. I don’t want to implicate any of you._ And then, added in a smaller script, is a phone number Martin doesn’t recognize, captioned with, _If you need anything._

Martin should probably throw away the note, but he doesn't feel like he should save the number in his phone, and he's shit at memorization. He shoves it under a box of Kleenex in the drawer of his bedside table, the loops of Jon's handwriting still sharp in the back of his mind alongside the crushing relief that he's okay. 

The tape itself stays in his hands too long—not a heavy weight, but a reassuring one, leaving creases in the sides of his palm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it turns out it is surprisingly difficult to rewrite a season of a show when you've gotten rid of the two primary plot points of said season lol.
> 
> i took some dialogue directly from the show, particularly in episodes 56, 73, 79, 80, and 81. complete credit for that goes to the writers. i owe a lot to the transcript archives, as i use them pretty heavily when writing this fic, as well as the wiki. 
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @ghostbustermelanieking!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, uh… what are you working on? You mentioned trying to figure out the entities, and the trying-to-clear-Jon's-name thing. But like, what else?"
> 
> "Well, I mean, there's still normal statement stuff that we're going through for clarity's sake, you know. Martin and I have been taking turns recording, since Jon's been gone. But also, there's. Uh," Sasha continues awkwardly. "Trying to find and stop a ritual to end the world?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so glad this chapter came out so easily, and quicker than the last two. i'm hoping this is a streak i can keep up!
> 
> i borrowed/remixed some more dialogue from the show, from episodes 78, 79, 84, and 93. all credit for that goes to the writers of the show. (and my apologies if i missed any references.)
> 
> warning for several references to a police investigation/search for a suspect, in the vein of the jon-on-the-run storyline in canon, and some potentially intense pursuit scenes in the vein of mag 79.

Tim and Sasha listen to Jon's tape at Martin's flat, the morning after he's gotten it. He calls them the night before and tells them without actually _telling_ them outright ("It's like we're in some government conspiracy movie and someone's tapped the phones," Tim says after he hangs up), and he explains in full the next morning. Sasha guesses that Martin's already listened to the tape just based off the look on his face when he hears it again, but she doesn't comment on it. She focuses on the statement, the story that leaves an odd little shiver down her spine, the apology at the end. 

(It's shockingly hard to listen to that apology at the end, even if it shouldn't be, even though it _is_ a relief to hear Jon say he trusts them. Three days ago, she was still furious at Jon for the coldness and the ignoring and the hiding things from them, and a part of her definitely still is. But another part of her is still replaying that last exchange in her head, the one where Jon volunteered to take the fall for Leitner because he owed it to them. Even though Sasha was the one with more blood on her hands, both figuratively and literally. Even if Leitner had been an asshole prick, she still feels guilty for the death, for not thinking to stay back with him, or for not more strongly discouraging Leitner from leaving the tunnels, or for drawing him out in the first place. She looked just as culpable as Jon, maybe even more so—Rosie won't even meet her eyes anymore, even though Sasha would've called them friendly work acquaintances before her transfer, and Daisy Tonner definitely suspects her. She could've taken the fall alongside Jon very easily. But she let Jon take it, and he thought this was his penance for lying to them and pushing them away. It all felt pretty wrong.)

When the tape clicks off, they sit in silence for a minute. Martin's staring down at his shoes, and Sasha isn't sure what to say to him—he's definitely taking this Jon-takes-the-fall thing the worst out of all of them, which shouldn't be a surprise. Tim, meanwhile, rubs a hand over his face and says, "Well, that explains how he was about the Carlos Vittery statement. Or about spiders in general, actually."

"Or about Leitner," Martin says quietly, hands tangled up in his lap. 

Sasha thinks, unbidden, about the time Tim told her about Danny, his reasoning for taking the job, for not trying to quit when they first heard Gertrude's tape. She wonders if Tim has seen the parallels, too; if she knows Tim, he has. She reaches for his hand, slotting their fingers together. "Well," she says, decisively, "we know he's okay. And we've got a way to contact him if we need to, although we should probably save it for an emergency. If we cause Detective Tonner to track him down, I'd rather it be for something important."

"Where do you think he _is_?" Martin says miserably. "I mean, he could be anywhere—you don't think he's still down in the tunnels, do you?"

"No, I don't," says Sasha. It seems too obvious, for one thing, and she's already poked around a bit in the small amount of time they've been able to spend in the Archives. Not far, she couldn't get far, but she stayed around the edge, and she can't explain it, but some part of her feels on instinct like Jon isn't hiding down there. (The one thing she did find in the tunnels, tucked under the ladder, was Leitner's book. Not the disappearing one—she assumes old bastard Elias-Jonah got that one—but the architecture one. She took that one, actually, put it in her bag and brought it home with her so the police wouldn't find it. Although she hasn't read it yet, because she remembers Leitner discussing how dangerous it was. But she did notice some dog-eared pages in the book, places Leitner had marked, places that might be useful yet.) "I don't think he's that close. The police are searching the tunnels, remember?"

Tim snorts loudly. "Wonder how many will get lost down there, huh?"

Martin's still staring at the tape recorder with a determined sort of air. "Then where do you think—"

"Don't worry about it, Martin. Really." Tim pats Martin's shoulder. "He gave us a phone number, which means he isn't sleeping under a bridge or anything. And did you hear the end of the tape? It sounded like a key in a lock. Which means he's _with_ somebody. So he's not alone. He'll be fine. He's scrappy, remember?"

(There's just enough of an ambiguous edge in Tim's voice that Sasha can't tell if he's still angry. He's probably still at least a little angry; Sasha knows how badly he wanted to leave. But she doesn't press it.)

"Right," says Martin. "Who would he be _with,_ though? It doesn't sound like he has any family left."

"Maybe he's got a whole big bunch of secret friends he hides in the tunnels," Tim says. "Along with the tunnel beast."

"I think Leitner might have been the tunnel beast," says Sasha, sighing. "And he's gone now. Prick or not, he could've helped us. He could've been useful. Jon didn't get much off him except personal history and the fact that Jon could apparently kickstart an apocalypse…"

" _What?_ " Tim stares at her incredulously, like he can't believe she hasn't mentioned this before. "Jon can _kickstart an_ —"

"He _can._ That doesn't mean he will," Martin says tightly. "It's… all the Archivist shit. Gertrude mentioned it in the tape, remember? And—and Jon wouldn't do anything like that. You should've seen him when Leitner told him, he looked like he was going to throw up."

Tim shrugs. "Okay, sure. Jon doesn't seem like the type to end the world, even if he _is_ a dick sometimes. Sure. But why didn't either of you _tell_ me?"

"I'm sorry, Tim, a lot's been going on," Sasha says, gently as she can manage. She's still got a hold of Tim's hand, and she's thinking maybe she should let go, but then she remembers what she has to tell him next, and she can't believe she _forgot,_ that she hasn't told him already. She should have just tried to explain over the phone, and then he'd at least be on the same page as them. "There's something else Leitner told us that you should know," she says. "It's the reason I called you down there, I knew you'd want to hear it. There's a recording somewhere, I think, if you want to listen…"

"Sash." Tim squeezes her hand. "What is it?"

Sasha takes a deep breath, looks over at Martin like he has any idea the significance of what she's going to say. (Which he doesn't, because Tim hasn't ever told him.) "Leitner was talking about the rituals, the ones that Gertrude mentioned," she says. "The ones that… change the world, the rituals that the entities have. And he mentioned one he was looking for information on that I guess might be performed soon. He was looking for files for how to stop it." Tim nods, hand still in hers. Sasha sighs a little; he has to know about this, he has to, but she wishes she didn't have to tell him this. "He called it the Unknowing. Said it was the ritual of the Stranger—one of the entities, I guess. Apparently it's represented in a couple different things, but one of those things is… the Circus of the Other. That's the Stranger. That's what Leitner told me."

Tim's face shifts, horrified, and he tugs his hand out of hers to rub at his mouth. "I'm sorry, Tim. I should have told you sooner," Sasha says quietly. 

"The _Circus_ ? Russian Circus? Grimaldi, Orsinov, creepy calliope, horrible tightrope? T-the Circus that _took Danny_ , that Circus? Is trying to end the _world?_ " Tim looks sick to his stomach, a hand over his face. "You're kidding, Sash. Y-you're kidding."

"I'm not. That's what Leitner told me. I'm sorry." Sasha touches his shoulder briefly, pulls back. "There's a way to stop it, though," she adds. "Gertrude believed it, and Leitner… there are files out there on how to stop it. We can do more research, we can talk to Jon when he gets back… we are _going_ to figure this out, I swear."

"W-wait, sorry, I… what's going on?" Martin interrupts, not unkindly, but certainly a little urgently. "Not that I'm against saving the world, at all, but I don't… why is this… who's Danny?"

Sasha turns towards Martin, maybe to explain or to indicate she'll explain later—she won't tell Tim's story for him, she can't do that, but maybe she can give a little bit of context. But Tim speaks before she can. "Right," he says bitterly into his hand. "Never told you. I thought I should tell you… I mean, you told me about your CV." He takes his hand away and looks out at them, eyes rimmed red, although he isn't crying. Sasha wants to take his hand again, but she doesn't. "Jon here isn't the only one with a dramatic backstory, Martin," he explains thickly. 

Martin chews his lower lip, looking a little sorry, sympathetic. "What happened?" he asks quietly. 

So Tim tells them. The second time Sasha's heard the story, but it's still a lot to hear. She stares down at the coffee table while he tells it, at the discarded tapes of Jon's. Martin's tape recorder is still on the table, too, and it takes Sasha a moment to notice the whirring sound of recording. She doesn't remember anyone turning it on. She stabs the Stop button with one thumb as subtly as she can; this isn't a statement, and she doesn't think Tim would want this recorded. 

"Tim, I'm so sorry," Martin says when Tim is finished, voice quivering a little. “That’s… that’s horrible, I—”

“Yeah,” Tim says, waving his hand a little frantically as if to say, _Stop._ “Yeah, it’s—yeah. So now you know why I want to find the Circus. And why I’m going to be really fucking mad if they end the world.”

“They won’t,” Sasha says, and it’s a promise to herself as much as it is a reassurance to Tim. “They _won’t_. We won’t let them. We’re going to find them.” Gertrude had been trying to stop this, trying to stop it, and at one point, she had wanted Sasha to succeed her. So, Archivist or not, Sasha is going to finish what she started, even if she has to do it by herself.

Tim says nothing, rubbing at his jaw a little like he’s been punched there. Sasha thinks about reaching for his hand again, but he takes hers before she can, in his free hand. “Right,” Martin says. “We—we have to do that. How… long do you think we have?”

“I don’t know,” says Sasha. “I guess we should find out. We have a lead, right? We know what the Stranger is? The Circus and the Not-Them, according to Leitner.”

“What the hell is the Not-Them?” Tim says quietly. 

“I dunno. Something that Leitner mentioned in the tunnels,” says Martin. “Apparently belongs to the Stranger, too?”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Sasha. “The point is, we _do_ have a lead. And we’ve got at least three entity names—Stranger, End, Eye. We’ll keep going through new statements and sorting them. We can dig through those tapes that Basira gave Jon, too, the Gertrude tapes. And we can look for more information. Somebody has to know something. We’ll keep digging, and we’ll figure this all out, and when we clear Jon’s name for Leitner’s murder, he can come back and help us.”

Tim laughs, somewhere between tired and affectionate, and rests his head lightly on her shoulder. “That’s quite a to-do list, James. You our fearless leader now?”

“Oh—no, nothing like that,” Sasha says quickly, but Tim shakes his head and grins up at her a little. “You make a good leader, Sash. And hell, you were supposed to be the Archivist anyway. Might as well take over, right? Temporary boss?”

Sasha looks over at Martin, who nods a little like he agrees. Like he trusts her or something. And distantly in the back of her mind, she thinks, quite ridiculously, _Well, if no one promotes you, might as well promote yourself, right?_ Just until Jon gets back. Why the hell not?

“Sure,” she says. “Okay. We can do it that way, if you guys don’t have any objections. I can sort things out if you want. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Damn right we are,” Martin says, and his voice shakes a little, but he attempts a real smile, and Tim nods against her shoulder, and it really is comforting, yes, to know they trust her like this. To know that they’ll be okay until Jon gets back, that they can do things on their own.

\---

Living at Georgie’s flat is a strange sort of surreal, for a number of reasons. For one, Jon hasn’t spent this much time with her since they were dating—they met for drinks or dinner every now and then a couple years ago, after the pain of the break-up wore off enough that it wasn’t too awkward, but that essentially stopped when Jon got the Archivist job, so it’s been a good while. And even then, it was more of an awkward friendship than a… strange roommate situation. Jon hasn’t spent this much time at her flat since they _were_ dating. It’s actually sort of nice, to be around a friend again, especially one as familiar as Georgie (he still considers Sasha and Tim and Martin friends, of course, but he doubts they would consider _him_ a friend, and the fact does remain that they’re still his coworkers). Nice change of pace to be able to do something in the evening besides manically research statements or explore spooky tunnels, even if his new routine essentially just involves watching TV on the couch with Georgie and the Admiral. But that doesn’t make it any less odd. 

Another odd thing is the lapse of work in general. Jon’s done little else over the last few months _besides_ work—probably as far back as when Martin first found the tape, maybe even further. Now there’s nothing much to do. He can do research on the things they were working on before he left—and he does, on an old, excruciatingly slow laptop of Georgie’s—but he can’t get very far without Institute resources, and randomly googling things like _Stranger ritual unknowing_ doesn’t get him very far. He’d go to the library, but he’s too cautious to really leave the apartment aside from brief runs to the store or something, and even _that_ honestly spooks him. Who knows how heavily he’s being looked for? Who knows whether or not the police will actually be able to find Georgie? The last thing he wants to do is get arrested, or get Georgie arrested—he hasn’t explained the situation to Georgie yet, but he’s sure she’s going to figure it out soon, based on the way he keeps jumping whenever they hear sirens. London is a big city, and no one knows where he is, and probably no one will find out where he is unless Martin loses the phone number he sent, which Jon honestly doubts will happen. (He debated whether or not to send a phone number at all, wondering if it wouldn’t be fair to Georgie. But, well. Georgie _does_ have a landline, and Jon ditched his cell phone in the tunnels, and he’s been staying away from email or anything like that. And he didn’t want to leave the others with no way to contact him at all.)

The oddest thing about all this, however—and the thing that leaves Jon the most on edge—is the statement that shows up at Georgie’s apartment about a week and a half after Jon arrives. It's a pretty run-of-the-mill statement, but it does stick out in a few significant ways. For one, it seems to be aligned with the Stranger that Leitner mentioned, the one with a coming ritual. Jon admittedly doesn't know much about it, but he thinks this is a fair assumption based on the mannequins and clowns as a recurring theme. Although it doesn't offer much of use. 

But the part that seems stranger—the part that bothers him _and_ Georgie—is the question of who sent this statement and how they found him. His initial thought is that it must be from Martin and Sasha and Tim; it relates to what Leitner told them, the subject of the Unknowing that Jon suspects is at the forefront of all their minds. Maybe they want to keep him in the loop. But the longer he considers it, the less it makes sense. All he gave them was the phone number, and while he wouldn't put it past Sasha to be able to track down Georgie's address based on her landline, he doesn't see why they wouldn't make some sort of move to explain themselves. He'd sent a note with the tape, after all. So it wouldn't really make sense for it to be the others. And the only other person Jon can think of who might have done this—although he's hoping for some sort of benevolent alternative—is Elias. Which is an option that makes him incredibly uncomfortable. Georgie mentions her disdain at whoever it is having his address (he hasn't explained most of what's happened, but she was there when he found it and mentioned he had no idea who it was from), and Jon is even more bothered by the fact that it was apparently delivered in person. If Elias knows where he is… this shouldn't be a surprise, considering the clairvoyance he's already aware of, but he isn't sure what this means for the future. Is Elias going to tell the police where he is? Throw the others under the bus? Will Georgie end up getting caught in the middle of this, just another pawn in this tangled web that Elias can use against him? (That thought makes him slightly nauseous, makes him consider leaving for half a day, panicking and panicking on the couch, before he decides against it on the basis that he has nowhere else to go, and that Georgie might still be in danger even if he leaves. He has no real way of knowing.) 

Aside from the worries about what it means that Elias (if it _is_ Elias) knows where he is, there's also the consideration of what to _do_ with the statement. Jon's instinct is to research it, of course, research and record so he has a record, but he suspects that's likely Elias's reason for sending it in the first place. And he can still remember Gertrude's warning on the tape— _Be wary of whatever Elias asks you to do,_ she'd said. Wouldn't this fall underneath that? The wisest thing to do would probably be to forget it. 

But a part of Jon can't just let it _go_. Even if Elias sent this to him in an attempt to manipulate him, it still is a statement, one that relates to the entity that Jurgen Leitner said was presently planning to end the world. And he's just supposed to forget it, let it go? He considers sending it to the others to research, but if it's dangerous, he can hardly foist it off on them. He wants to be cautious, and it would be smart to let it go, but if there's anything important here that he misses because he threw it out… 

So Jon researches the statement for four days, as best he can without Institute resources, and records it at the end. To have the information to return to later. Because that's what he does. He can't bring himself to let it go, not if it could potentially save people. (If he himself has the power to end the world… well, the opposite of ending it is saving it.) And this doesn't seem much different than what he was doing at the Institute. Sure, Elias specifically wanted him to look into this, but Jon assumes that he wanted him to look into all the others as well. And there doesn't seem to be anything involved that could put him in direct danger. 

It may be a bad decision. Georgie thinks it's a bad decision, and she doesn't even have the full picture of what's happened. But Jon can't bring himself to regret it. 

"What was it about this job, Jon?" Georgie says one night after he records the statement, in the middle of a documentary on ley lines. 

Jon scratches the Admiral behind his ears, considering how to avoid the subject. (He's still not ready to explain all this.) "We've been over this, yeah? I'm obsessive, you said it yourself."

"Well, sure, and I still say you need to take a step back from all this. But being obsessive and missing your job don't necessarily go hand in hand, and you've been moping around on the couch like you've lost something," says Georgie, twining noodles around her fork. "So: what's the catch? Clearly this all was bad enough to send you here. Why do you miss it so much? Why are you knee-deep in work you don't have to be doing, considering you were fired?"

Jon laughs briefly, maybe a little bitterly. "Believe me, I wasn't fired," he says, although he isn't sure how else to explain all this. (He had to give _some_ explanation for why he wasn't getting off the couch all day.) "And… I don't know. I guess I just…" He isn't sure how to continue, but Georgie is staring at him expectantly, so he finishes with an uncertain, "... miss my coworkers."

"Oh. That's actually sweet." Georgie knocks her elbow against his, turning back to the television. "I never thought I'd see the day," she adds teasingly. "Jon Sims, making friends?"

"I'm… not sure friends is the right word," Jon says, the memories of his recent argument with Tim and Sasha, on top of every altercation he's caused with Martin, in the back of his mind. "Besides," he adds, changing the subject, "you can't act as if I've _never_ had friends. I have you, don't I?"

"Yes, yes you do." Georgie smiles a little, sets her plate on the table by the couch and lugs the Admiral into her lap. "Lucky you, huh? Generous ex-girlfriend with a guest room?"

"Yes," Jon says quietly. He left the tape recorder on the table, sitting beside Georgie's plate now, and he's looking at it for no real reason. Can't take his eyes off it. He took the main one; they'll be left with Martin's spare back at the Archives, the one he uses for poetry. He settles back against the couch and tries not to think about the Archives, statements, Elias coming here and finding Georgie. "Yes, lucky me indeed."

The next week, he gets another one. Same handwriting, same sort of envelope. This statement doesn't seem to have anything to do with the Stranger, insofar as Jon can tell; it actually reminds him a bit of Michael, who doesn't seem to be related to the Stranger at all. He records it and researches it all over again, thinking to himself that if any of the statements suggest any direct danger to himself, or Georgie, or Martin and Tim and Sasha, that he won't touch it at all. 

\---

Melanie goes back to the Magnus Institute after India, mostly on an impulse. Her leg is hurting like shit, although it will bear her weight now, and she keeps lingering over everything that happened, the confusing spectacle of it all. And the more she thinks about it, the more that going back to the Archives seems like the next logical move. She’s given a statement twice before, and she always felt a little better in the aftermath, even if Jon is a prick. And besides, she and Sasha did promise to try and get together again after she got back from India. (She wants to keep pursuing this friendship with Sasha; she likes Sasha, genuinely likes her, and besides that, it’s not as if she has many friends left besides Georgie. She can’t really count mutual friends that are mostly Georgie’s friends who didn’t completely ditch her post-breakdown.) So she heads back there, taking a cab instead of the Tube to avoid putting too much strain on her leg, hoping to leave the situation a little more clear-headed. To shake off this strange aura of weariness and something almost like paranoia that’s been hanging around her ever since she woke up at the hospital.

The Archives are more cluttered than Melanie’s admittedly ever seen them—boxes and books piled everywhere, loads of what looks like paper statements, a few stray tape recorders, and even a few strands of what looks like yellow crime scene tape mixed into the mess. Sasha’s there, though, and so is one of the other assistants—Tim, Melanie thinks. She hangs around Sasha’s desk for a moment to catch up. Sasha immediately asks how India went, and winces sympathetically when Melanie explains that she got shot, but doesn’t ask questions, which is a first. She gets a weird look on her face when Melanie asks how things have been here, followed by a sharp laugh from Tim’s desk, but doesn’t elaborate at all. Instead, she says, “It’s really good to see you. We should get a drink or something soon.”

“We should,” Melanie says, sitting in the chair that Sasha shoves over from the empty desk. “Actually, I came by hoping to give a statement. Is Jon in?”

Sasha gets a weird look on her face all over again; Melanie’s sure of that this time. “Oh, uh, Jon,” she says awkwardly. “He’s… out. He’s out right now.”

Tim laughs again, in that strange tone Melanie can’t really place. “Right. That’s a good word for it.”

“ _Tim_ ,” Sasha hisses quietly, like they’re trying to hide something.

“Um. Do you know when he’ll be back?” Melanie says gingerly, tugging on an uneven strand of hair. (The impulsive self-cut was probably a bad idea, considering she was sixteen the last time she did anything like that. Georgie has insisted about twenty times that it isn’t that bad, and that it _works_ for her, but to Melanie, it just screams, _Second life crisis!_ )

“Not… not for a while, I’m sorry,” says Sasha. “But if you want to make a statement, I could take it for you, or Martin could. We’ve… been taking turns recording them while Jon’s gone. Listening to a live one isn’t too much of a stretch, right?”

The door behind them opens just then, the one to Jon’s office, and the other assistant who must be Martin emerges from it. “Finished the Old Maggie statement,” he says in a strangely shaky voice. “You were right, Sasha, reading these really does…” He breaks off mid-sentence, like he’s seeing Melanie for the first time. “Oh. Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” Melanie says, rubbing the sore spot on her leg and wondering if it would just make more sense to tell this story to Sasha in a pub. 

“You remember Melanie King, right, Martin?” Sasha offers. “She came in to give a statement.”

“I… I don’t have to do this right now,” Melanie says stiltedly, unsure of why she’s even lingering over it. Unsure of why it matters whether she gives her statement to a giant prick she always argues with, or someone she actually considers a friend. (There’s no real reason she should prefer Jon over the others, aside from the fact that when she’s given statements to Jon, it’s been eerily easy to talk about. She’s shit at telling personal stories—random ghost stories are no problem at all, but personal stories… well, they’re just weirdly easy when you slap the label of _statement_ on them.) “Y’know, you seem pretty busy here, and I… I don’t want to be an intrusion.” She motions at the piles of boxes and paper. “I can just come back when Jon gets back, if that’s easier.”

“W-when Jon gets back?” Martin says uncertainly, leaning against the door. Sasha shoots him a bit of a look. The longer they all talk about this, the more Melanie thinks that Jon probably isn’t on holiday, or out sick. 

“We don’t exactly know when that’s gonna be, unfortunately,” Tim says. He’s staring at his laptop, at what looks like an Excel spreadsheet; Melanie can’t make out much, aside from a couple of labels that say, _STRANGER_ or _END_. Whatever the hell that means.

“I’m sorry, Melanie,” says Sasha, legitimately sincere. “Things have been… a little chaotic around here. But… yeah, we’re not really sure when Jon’s getting back. If you want to give one of us your statement…”

“What happened?” Melanie asks on another impulse. “If you don’t mind me asking… I mean, no offense, but things seem to be a bit more than a _little_ chaotic in here.”

Sasha laughs a little. “Um, it’s a long story, honestly. There was an… accident. And things sort of came out looking like… like Jon had murdered someone.”

Melanie blinks, drawing back in surprise. “Wait, seriously?”

“He _didn’t_ murder anyone,” Martin says, a sort of loyalness in his tone. He’s still hovering awkwardly by the door, and Melanie wonders why for a split second before she remembers that Sasha gave her his chair. 

“No, he didn’t,” Sasha adds quickly. “We told the police that. They just… they didn’t believe us.” 

“Oh,” says Melanie, entirely unsure of what else to say in this sort of situation. “So, uh… where is he now?” 

“We don’t know,” says Tim. “Probably off somewhere acting out the middle act of _Bonnie and Clyde_.” 

“We’re going to clear things up with the police, and then he’ll be back,” Martin adds, shooting a look Tim's way. “We just… don’t know when that will be.”

Melanie doesn’t really know what to say to that, aside from offering to give her statement to Sasha or Martin, which she really does not want to do for some reason. “I’m sorry,” Sasha says again. “If there’s any way we can help you…”

“I might just do some more research in the library,” Melanie says, sighing a little and standing so she can push Martin’s chair over to his desk. “I _do_ want that drink, though. Tonight, maybe?”

“Definitely!” Sasha says. “Text me the details?”

“Sure.” Melanie grins at her, and then looks briefly over at the others, who are still just looking at her awkwardly. “Uh, nice to see all of you again,” she says, before turning for the door. 

Well, that was plenty awkward, she thinks absently. Better, probably, to just stick with meeting Sasha after hours; the Archives seems like a double-edged sword in terms of comfort and irritation, not to mention awkwardness.

She’s more or less looking for an easy, quick exit, but this doesn’t happen, because she runs into an older-looking guy on her way up to the main level, some guy in a suit that she gets strange vibes from despite having never talked to him in her life. He smiles politely enough, though—in a way that Melanie guesses must mean he’s not a fan, if he’s not being overly odd or judgmental. But then he says, “Pardon me, are you… Melanie King? From _Ghost Hunt UK_?”

Okay, so she misjudged that one. “Yeah, that’s me,” Melanie says, as politely as she can muster, trying not to wince.

“I enjoyed your show,” the man says. “Your techniques were rudimentary, but you showed surprising promise. On occasion.”

“Uh, thanks,” Melanie says gingerly. “I think.” 

The man extends his hand. “Elias Bouchard. I run the Institute.” He keeps looking at her oddly while she shakes his hand before adding, “You’ve come to make a statement?”

“Oh, uh, no. Just wanted to say hi to Sasha.”

“I wasn’t aware you and Sasha knew each other.”

“We hang out sometimes. She’s nice.” Melanie shoves her bag up her shoulder and shrugs a little. She doesn't know why she's telling him this. Isn't this the boss Sasha doesn't like?

“You were leaving, yes? Allow me to walk you out,” says Elias. So Melanie follows him up the stairs and down the hallway, despite the fact that she’s been here about half a dozen times already. Elias keeps talking as they walk. “I assume Sasha filled you in on everything? The recent… incident in the Archives?”

“Uh, yeah. She said Jon was out…” 

“He is. And for the time being, I know all three of them are swamped down there, without an Archivist to help with the extra workload.” Elias clears his throat before continuing: “I’m not in the market for a new Archivist, at least not yet. But I was considering taking on another assistant to help lighten the workload.”

“Hang on,” Melanie says disbelievingly, “are you offering me a job?”

“Yes, if you’d like it. You have some experience in the field, and you seem like someone who I can trust to do what needs to be done down there. And in addition, there’s the benefit of you already being acquainted with Sasha and the others.” Elias smiles at her, a little oddly, but still polite. “Do you want the job?”

“Oh, um…” The request has taken her off guard, considerably, but it doesn’t seem like a bad opportunity. It’s a subject she’s familiar with, an environment she’s familiar with, somewhere where she might not get judged for all of this YouTube mess… somewhere she could continue her research into the war ghosts. And besides that, frankly, she could use the money, or any other sort of stability in her life. “Well, it’s, it’s rather sudden, but… I mean, sure. Yes. Yes, I do,” she says, trying to inject a semblance of determination in her voice. It’s an _opportunity_ ; and it wouldn’t be the first time she’s worked for a weird, creepy boss.

“Good,” says Elias, amicably enough. “Well, if you want to come on up to my office and we’ll have a proper interview. Hopefully get all the paperwork signed. And then you can go on down and get started, if you’re ready. Give everyone the good news.”

“Uh, sure. Lead the way,” Melanie says. It’s certainly unexpected, but it’s not something she’s opposed to. Not at all. She remembers saying, at that coffee shop with Sasha, that she wishes she’d came and worked at the Institute instead of starting _Ghost Hunt UK_. Maybe… maybe this is her chance to start over. Get on the right track.

\---

Elias has Melanie fill out the paperwork quickly before sending her back down to the Archives. “I wouldn’t start on anything too intensive, of course, it’s your first day,” he says. “But it might be good to get used to the new surroundings, new coworkers. Settle in and all that.” So Melanie heads down with that intention in mind, caught somewhere between nervousness at the sheer awkwardness of popping back in like, _Surprise! I'm your new coworker,_ and maybe a little bit of eagerness. Might as well, right? New start, new opportunity? 

She should've known not to be too optimistic. 

To her credit, Sasha and the others don't seem _unhappy_ to see her. Tim and Martin look a little confused, sure. But Sasha just smiles at her and says, "Melanie, hey. Did you change your mind about giving that statement?"

"Oh, no, uh. Funny story, actually. I ran into your boss—Elias—on the way out of the building," Melanie says. "And he, uh, offered me a job. Helping you out in the Archives."

They're surprised; she can see that immediately. She sort of expected surprise. But she didn't expect them to look _horrified_ , all three of them, staring at her in disbelief. "You're kidding," Tim says, sounding almost angry. 

"Um, no." Melanie chews on her lower lip, a little annoyed, already mentally revising her opinion of Martin and Tim. "We were just now talking about it, he told me to come down and get settled in…"

"Melanie," Sasha says, her voice gentle and hard all at once. She stands abruptly and reaches out to touch Melanie's arm, as if she's trying to comfort her or something. "Have you… have you signed anything? Have you made anything official?"

"Yeah." She crosses her arms instinctively, feeling the defenses snapping up. "Elias had me sign the forms just now…"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Sasha says, almost frantically, shoving around the desk. "I'm going to—I'm talking to him, right now, he is _not_ fucking doing this."

"Doing _what_ ?" Melanie protests, but Sasha's already out the door before she can answer. Melanie turns abruptly on the other too and snaps, "Look, it's pretty obvious you don't want me here, but this seems like a _bit_ of an overreaction…"

"How much did he tell you?" Tim says suddenly. "Elias. What did he _say_ that made you want to work here?"

"Tim…" Martin says, almost warningly. 

Melanie shrugs sharply. "I dunno, he… asked if I wanted a job…"

Tim laughs, a bitter, shrunken sound, and collapses in his desk chair. "So he tricked you. Wonderful. Someone else to be trapped down here. Another corpse to add to the piles."

"Tim, come on, no one's _died_ yet," says Martin, impatient. 

"Except for Jurgen Leitner!" Tim holds up one finger. "You forget that one, Martin. Brutal pipe murder inches away from our fucking desks…" 

"Okay, okay." Melanie scrubs her hands in the air, an attempt to stop them. "What the hell is going on here? What do you mean, Elias _tricked_ me?"

Tim sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair. Martin clears his throat awkwardly before speaking: "Uh, well, it's kind of a long story, but, um… Elias is, uh, evil. And… once you get a job in the Archives, y-you can't quit it. Ever."

Melanie looks between the two of them, sort of expecting one of them to start laughing, but there's no trace of humor on their face. "Wait, _seriously_?"

"Seriously," says Tim. "We've tried. Jon actually broke his laptop trying to quit."

Melanie laughs a little, completely in disbelief. "I-I mean, I knew something was off about this place, but… what do you mean, Elias is _evil_?"

"He's evil. Nefarious. Untrustworthy. Y'know?" Tim offers unhelpfully. Melanie looks to Martin, who adds uncertainly, "Well, he, uh, murdered Jurgen Leitner with a pipe."

Melanie's heard that name before, but she doesn't press too hard. She doesn't say anything at all, actually—she just collapses in Sasha's desk chair and puts her hands over her face. " _Great_ ." She should've known this, actually, she should've fucking known; the first time she came in, there were worms all over the place, and Sasha's shoulder was all bandaged, and then when she came back again, Sasha and Tim and Jon were _all_ covered in those weird round scars, literally all over their faces and arms and legs, and Sasha's never exactly given this place a glowing review, and everyone always looks perpetually exhausted. And Sasha actually _did_ kind of give her clues about Elias; she acted all freaked when she thought Melanie had seen Elias, and then she called him a dick. Melanie _absolutely_ should have known. "Fucking _great,_ " she says again, and kicks the shit out of Sasha's desk, so hard her toes sting a little. (At least it's with her good leg.)

"I—do you want some tea? Or something?" Martin offers, a little desperately. "U-unless you're more of a coffee person, maybe?" Melanie doesn't say anything. Then Martin tries, "I-it's not all bad here, at least not all the time… I mean, it's been pretty quiet lately, aside from the Leitner stuff…" 

Tim snorts loudly at that. "Don't give her false hope, Martin."

"Look, I'm not gonna lie and say this place is amazing or anything like that, b-but I mean, at least the company's not all bad… you and Sasha and Jon…"

"Well, sure, I like working with you guys, too. But does that outweigh the spooky tunnels? Creepy worm woman? Man who comes out of the wall and stabs you? _Pipe-murdering boss?_ Clown ritual to _end the world_?"

"You're really making me feel better about working here, thanks," Melanie snaps, yanking her hands away. (To their credit, they both look a little sorry at that. Even Tim.)

Sasha bursts in just about then, loud and furious. "Rat fucking bastard!" she nearly spits, slamming the door behind her. "He wouldn't even talk to me! Tried to sic Rosie on me, who is _still_ avoiding me even though we _used to be friends_ , thanks for that, Elias… and then when I forced my way past her, he just refused to transfer Melanie! He wouldn't even discuss it! He just said, _What's done is done,_ and oh, _Melanie is part of the Archives now,_ and _I have my reasons._ And then he told me to get out! Jesus Christ!"

"I still want to get rid of him, you know," says Tim. "Have we forgotten Martin's idea about exposing him for Gertrude's murder? We've got him on _two_ murders now."

"So I'm trapped here," Melanie says, bluntly. "For real now."

Sasha seems to notice her for the first time since coming back, eyes widening sympathetically. Martin says gingerly, "Well, you know, you could _try_ to quit, just to see, but I don't think…"

"Melanie, I'm so sorry," Sasha says in a rush, looking almost on the verge of tears. "I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't… I had no _idea_ he'd hire you. I should've told you, last time we talked, I should've told you. I just… didn't think you'd believe me."

Melanie softens, just a little—she can still feel the hot lump of anger behind her throat. "It's not your fault," she says. "Not really, I mean… I just… can you tell me more? Anything more? A-about the evil boss, and the fact that I'm trapped here, a-and any of it? Any of what they just said?" She motions wildly at Tim and Martin. 

"What did you _tell_ her?" Sasha asks, almost disapprovingly. 

"The truth," Tim says. "Without much context. Sorry, Melanie."

"W-we could've explained better," Martin adds sheepishly. 

Sasha shakes her head frustratedly. "Yeah, we'll… we'll fill you in. Everything we know. You still want that drink, Melanie? This seems like a conversation that should be had over drinks."

\---

They go to the pub they usually frequent after work, in their normal corner booth, and explain everything to Melanie. Everything they know that is. ("Everything Elias hasn't buried or Jon hasn't hid," Tim adds, which seems unnecessary to Martin.) Sasha does most of the explaining, which is sort of a relief; she mostly tells it chronologically, with a light explanation at the beginning, and Tim and Martin chime in when they want to. (Martin's voice still shakes like a leaf when talking about being held hostage in his apartment by Prentiss. Even a year later.) 

Melanie listens. Listens, and drinks, which Martin can't blame her for. She's quiet aside from asking questions—a lot of questions, which is understandable. This is complicated stuff. Martin wishes they had Gertrude's tape to play for her, but Jon had it last. He just hopes the police didn't confiscate it. If that's the case, then they might never see it again. 

At the end, Melanie mostly seems to be at a loss for words. "I'm so, so sorry," Sasha says again. "This isn't your fight. You never should've been pulled in and used as a… hostage, or whatever."

Melanie sighs, staring down in her glass. "It's not your fault. Really, Sash. I get it."

"So…" Martin ventures gingerly, "what are you going to do now?"

"What _can_ I do? Besides come to work? If I can't leave?" Melanie takes a definitive swig from her glass. "Maybe… maybe it won't be all bad," she adds. "It's private. Not like YouTube. And there's the library. I can keep researching war ghosts."

"Y-yeah, of course," Sasha says. "We… you don't have to help with this stuff. Not if you don't want to. Like I said, it's not your fight, and you're getting paid either way."

"Sasha's been taking charge while Jon's gone," Tim explains, jabbing a thumb at her. "Y'know. Since she was _supposed_ to be the Archivist and got saved by fucking sexism." Sasha leans her forehead briefly against his arm, nodding a little. 

"Lucky you, huh?" Melanie says, not entirely insincere. "So, uh… what _are_ you working on? You mentioned trying to figure out the entities, and the trying-to-clear-Jon's-name thing. But like, what else?"

"Well, I mean, there's still normal statement stuff that we're going through for clarity's sake, you know. Martin and I have been taking turns recording, since Jon's been gone." Martin nods a little, uncomfortable, at the reference. (He doesn't really like recording; it leaves him feeling worn out and paranoid, like something's been chipped away. He can't imagine how bad it is for Jon on a regular basis.) "But also, there's. Uh," Sasha continues awkwardly. "Trying to find and stop a ritual to end the world?"

"A ritual performed by an entity served by evil clowns," Tim adds, a little drunkenly. "Evil clowns who killed my brother. You should probably know that if you're going to be working here. Jon still doesn't know. I guess I need to tell him. Give him a-a statement or whatever."

"Uh. Right," says Melanie. She doesn't look that surprised; Martin supposes after the day she's had, saying something like that doesn't sound so crazy. "Well. You can explain that one in the morning, yeah? I'm going home."

"Feel free," Sasha says. Melanie offers her a thin smile before climbing out of the booth. (Well, Martin thinks ruefully, at least she likes _one_ of them.)

Martin excuses himself about forty minutes or so after Melanie goes. He's tired, and he wants to have a few minutes thinking about something beside all this. At the very least, he's got books at home, or his notebook, or television, or something like that. He tells Tim and Sasha goodbye and starts walking to the Tube, and it's only in the middle of his ride home that he thinks this is probably a good time to use the phone number Jon gave them. Jon should know about this. Jon's on their side, and he'll be back one day, and it… it just seems important, that he knows there's someone else tangled up in all this. Someone else they need to keep safe if they can. 

Martin calls from a payphone near his house, because it feels like the best way to be covert. Like he's acting out the middle of a bad heist film. He dials the number without even having to double check the folded-up note in his pocket; he's had the number memorized. It rings for entirely too long, his head against the hard metal of the box, and then when someone finally picks up, it isn't even Jon. It's a woman's voice, cheery enough, saying, "Hi, this is Georgie, how can I help you?"

Martin has no context for who this is supposed to be, and even wonders briefly if Jon has given him a wrong number. But he decides to cut his losses and go with, "Uh, is Jon there?" just in case. 

There's an odd pause on the other end before the woman says with a harsher undercurrent in her voice, "No, he's not."

Oh. Martin swallows hard, forehead pressed to the spot by the receiver, and says, "C-can you tell him something for me?"

"Depends on what it is," says the woman—Georgie. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm—Martin. His coworker, Martin. I just… can you tell him to call me? I need to talk to him."

"You can give me the message first. Then I'll tell him."

Martin isn't sure whether to be annoyed or relieved—that there's someone out there who cares for Jon like this, someone watching out for him in the midst of all this insanity. "Tell him Elias trapped Melanie," he says, hoping that'll be enough to get Jon to call back so he can explain. 

There's a long silence on the other end, before Georgie says incredulously, "I'm sorry, _what_?" 

"He trapped her. He h-hired her, that is, and now she can't quit… Look, Jon will know what it means. Can you just tell him? It's Melanie King," says Martin, instantly feeling dumb for tacking on the _King_ —how many Melanies can Jon know? 

There's another weird silence before Georgie says, coldly, "I have to go," and abruptly hangs up the phone. 

Martin groans, banging his forehead lightly against the phone, and wonders if there's another way to find Jon without bringing down the wrath of Scary Detective Tonner down on them. 

Maybe he shouldn't be disappointed; if someone's watching him, it's probably better he doesn't talk to Jon directly anyways. They could find him. It might genuinely be safer to just let this Georgie person pass messages back and forth. It's just… it's silly, but Martin _misses_ him. Was sort of mostly looking forward to hearing his voice. 

\---

"Jon?" Georgie calls from the living room, interrupting Jon in the midst of researching the Circus of the Other. He shoves the laptop closed and goes out of the bedroom, where Georgie is there shooting him an odd, closed-off look. "Martin called," she says, shortly. 

"Martin?" Jon's eyes dart immediately to the landline. "W-what did he want? Why didn't you tell me?" 

"He said he was your coworker, and I was still under the impression that you were hiding out from your job, considering all the creepy things that have been showing up at my flat." Georgie crosses her arms, shooting him an even look. "He wanted me to give you a message, though. He said that Elias had trapped Melanie King by hiring her?"

The words are enough of a surprise that it feels like someone's kicked him in the knees. "That's… are you serious?" Jon says faintly. "That's, that's what he said?"

"That's what he said."

Jon collapses on the couch, upending an irritated Admiral, and presses a hand over his face, wondering what the hell Elias could want with Melanie King. Is she supposed to be some sort of hostage, a bizarre bargaining chip? Jon wouldn't call her a friend, necessarily, but that doesn't mean he wanted her to be involved in all this. Is this because of Georgie, because Georgie's close to Melanie and Jon is close to Georgie? Or maybe a slight to Sasha, who Jon believes is sort of close with Melanie? How the hell does this fit into Elias's plans? "Jesus Christ," he mutters from behind his hand. 

"Jon, what the hell is going on?" Georgie snaps. "What did this guy mean that Melanie's trapped?"

"It's… a long story," Jon says, without much hope that it's going to tide Georgie over. 

"No, screw that! Jon, this is serious! I've been holding back because I trust you, and I didn't want to push you, but now _Melanie_ is caught up in this?"

"I had _no_ idea this would happen," Jon tries, meaning it as sincerely as he can. "I never would have let her stick around if I'd known."

Georgie stares at him for a moment in disbelief, fury barely contained. She takes a deep breath before continuing: "Let her stick around _where_?"

Jon sighs, letting his head fall. The Admiral begrudgingly crawls into his lap, and he doesn't bother to push him away; the comfort is admittedly nice. "Just tell me, okay?" Georgie says, more gently this time. "If you're going to be around here, and I'm going to help you—going to _cover for you to the police,_ by the way—then I need to know what's going on. Especially if both you _and_ Melanie are involved. I'm not just going to sit by blindly and ignore this if you're both in danger."

"You won't believe me," Jon says faintly. "It sounds insane."

"Try me," says Georgie, too firm to argue. 

So Jon tries to explain. Tells everything he knows as best he can explain it, about the entities and the rituals and the fact that they can't be fired. He even plays the Gertrude tape, as a shred of support to his story—he'd had it on him when he ran from the Institute, as a form of habit, and now he's glad for that. And incredibly enough, Georgie actually believes him. She looks plenty shocked, sure—and maybe even worried, too, especially when he explains his role as Archivist, and his apparent susceptibility in potentially ending the world—but she doesn't blow off any of it. And at the end, she admits she believes him. "You should talk to Melanie," she says, pulling out her phone and checking it. "She deserves to know about all this."

"I'm sure Sasha and Martin and Tim filled her in," Jon says. "They're… very thorough. And Sasha _likes_ Melanie."

"Still. You're the Archivist, right? She needs to hear it from you." Georgie types something into her phone. 

"You're taking this awfully well," says Jon before he can stop himself. "Uh, for finding out that monsters exist, I mean."

"This wasn't exactly a revelation. The monsters part, I mean. I've known about that one for a while." Georgie lowers her phone to look up at him, her expression more forgiving than before. "She's going to come over. She said she was at home sobering up, but that she'll head over soon."

"Oh." Jon clears his throat awkwardly. "She won't… turn us into the police, will she?"

"No, she won't. And you two are on the same side now, so it seems like you should find a way to get along." Georgie looks back at her phone, but doesn't make a move to type anything. Fidgets with it absently before putting it down. "Jon. These, these things you’re talking about? Is… Is one of them, like, Death?"

"Uh, yes. I-I-I think so. There’s one I’ve heard called the End," he says. "Why?"

Georgie leaves things silent for a moment before speaking again. "There's probably time to get through this before she gets here," she says finally. "I'll make us a cup of tea."

So Georgie gives him a statement, more or less, about an encounter in university with corpses and a disappearing friend and something the corpse said to her that led to a revelation and the loss of her fear. It's a lot to take in—not too different from the statements Jon reads on the daily, but different because it's someone he _knows_. As bad as either of Martin's or Sasha's statements last year. Maybe even worse because he had no idea, all this time, that Georgie went through this, or that she was connected to it all. Georgie suggests that the connection might be why he came to her, which makes sense, even if it's a little uncomfortable of an idea to broach. Whatever the case, Jon is worn out by the end. 

Melanie shows up right at the end of the story, with convenient timing. Georgie hugs her as soon as she's in the door and says, "Are you okay?" 

Melanie nods, hugging her back just as hard. Her gait's a little off, Jon notices from the door, and something resembling bandages pokes out from under her pant leg. He assumes India didn't go well. "Long fucking night, but I'm okay." She pulls back from the embrace and nods awkwardly at Jon, stepping into the apartment. "Hey."

"Hi, Melanie," Jon says. 

Melanie, definitely limping a little, comes over and settles on the other end of the couch. The Admiral abandons Jon's lap and starts sniffing at Melanie, who looks a little bemused when he finally climbs up into her lap. "Little monster. Why does he like me so much, anyways?" she asks Georgie, scratching behind his ears. 

"I dunno. I guess you're a likeable person, Mel," says Georgie, grinning a little. 

"Melanie… I don't know how much you've been told, but I can try to… fill you in," Jon offers, stumbling over the initial words. This might be worse than explaining to the others; at least they had some more context for what a weird workplace this is. 

"I've heard enough for the night. Sasha and the others told me a lot." Melanie laughs sharply. "Just wish I'd known some of this before I signed a goddamn employment contract."

"Melanie, I'm so sorry," Jon says, truly meaning it. "If I'd had any idea… I mean, I'm not even sure why Elias would… target you like this, but if I'd known…"

"It's fine, it's fine, you don't have to grovel. Sasha and Martin apologized enough for twenty people." Melanie's expression is somewhere between a grin and a grimace. "I don't… I'm not _happy_ about this. I hate being trapped, and if this job is as shit as everyone says, then I don't think I'm in for much fun. But… pathetically enough, I could use the money. And Sasha's already said she's not going to put much on me." Melanie really does grin then, a little smugly. "Did y'know she's taken charge since you've been out? Might be gunning for your job."

Jon laughs quietly, genuinely relieved to hear that. Sasha will do a good job keeping things sane; he's glad she's still there and not off being arrested for murder or something. "I don't think she'd want it."

Melanie snorts. "No fucking kidding."

"So… there's no way out of this?" Georgie prods gently, reaching out to touch Melanie's hand. 

Melanie slips their fingers together easily. "Dunno. They didn't seem to think so. I mean, I guess I could call in sick, but what else am I going to do? At least if I'm there, I can research this war ghost stuff. Sasha thinks she might have some statements I should look at."

"Right." Georgie looks worried, but she just squeezes Melanie's hand. "Just be careful, okay? This place seems like the type of place that could consume you. _Both_ of you." 

"Believe me," Melanie says grimly, "I'm not going to let it." 

(And Jon can't help being envious in that moment of the surety in her voice there. He supposes she has the advantage of being just a _normal_ employee hostage, and not a ritual devotee to some thing called the Eye that could end the world, but still. The envy is still there.)

Melanie ends up staying over, sitting up late talking on the couch with Georgie. Jon goes to bed early, still exhausted from Georgie's statement. He considers calling Martin back for a long time before going to sleep, even goes so far as to go to the landline and dial the number, but he hangs up after two rings. If someone Looking for him is listening in… well, better not to risk it.

\---

Maybe this should be less of a surprise, but things actually stay pretty quiet for a couple weeks after Melanie is hired. Tim knows he's shocked. But Elias mostly stays out of their way (aside from a couple times that Sasha tries to corner him and talk about Melanie or Jon), and no one else attacks. The morning after Melanie gets hired, there's a fourth desk in the Archives, like it's always been there. And just like that, they have a new coworker. 

Melanie keeps to herself a lot, aside from interacting with Sasha, but when she does interact with them, she actually fits in pretty well. The anger draws back a bit after a while, and she's pretty much just someone else to snipe with over the table in the break room. Sasha tries to avoid overloading her with work, but Melanie insists on helping out, so Sasha puts her on organizing statements that they've already investigated. Gives them all more time to focus on their own specific projects. Sasha and Martin are splitting recording the statements, and Sasha's spending the time she doesn't spend on that going through the tapes Basira brought, the Gertrude ones. They all put aside anything that looks like it might relate to the Stranger, although there hasn't been many clear ones yet. Nothing about the Circus of the Other, or whatever the hell the Not-Them is. Nothing about the Unknowing. 

That's what Tim has been doing, trying to dig up information on the Unknowing. He's neck-deep into searching for research on the Circus of the Other, or any explicit reference to the ritual itself. He and Sasha have both spent time reading books on Grimaldi and Orsinov and any of the rest. Russian circuses in general. Tim's been looking for the files Leitner mentioned in the Archives, but it really does seem like they aren't there, like Leitner had thought. (Tim is trying to figure out the logistics of breaking into Elias's office.) There isn't much yet, but it's a start, and Tim refuses to give up; there has to be something, _anything…_

(He can't give up. This is why he came to the Institute in the first place: for revenge. To find what took his little brother and take them down. It's too late to save Danny, he knows that, he understands that. But the Circus is still out there. And now they're trying to end the world, and everything in it, change it all forever. 

It's a fucked up trade. Can't save your brother but you can save the world. But Tim will take it. He's not about to let the world crumble out of spite. So he's going to find the Circus, and any other iteration of the Stranger, and he's going to stop them, in whatever form that ends up coming in. He doesn't have a choice.)

Other than the usual not-normal-job bullshit—sometimes Tim really does miss working in publishing—things really do stay quiet. For the Institute. At one point, Basira comes by looking for Detective Tonner; she talked to Martin, not the rest of them, but Martin says it was weird. Says she got all freaked out when he referenced something Tonner said during their interview and said she needed to find Jon. "I tried to tell her Jon didn't do it," he tells them. "Thought she'd believe me cause she apparently liked him, before. Even though she's not with the police—she's friends with Daisy, right? But she wasn't really listening." 

"Do you think we should be worried?" Sasha offers. "I mean, she gave me a bad vibe when she interviewed me. Daisy, I mean, not Basira."

"She's Scary Detective Tonner, right? She's _scary_. We don't want her to find Jon, right?" Tim says, taking a swig of coffee. 

"Right! Right. I mean, I think he's hidden pretty well, though," says Martin. "The lady that answered when I called seemed pretty protective. That's a good thing, right?"

"Oh, you mean Georgie?" Melanie offers, surprising all three of them. "Yeah, she can be scary. In a good way. And I know she really cares about Jon, even though he drives her crazy sometimes. They used to date. Crazy in love til they weren't, I hear, and Uni Jon sounds like less of a prick. But, yeah. He's safe there. I talked to him." 

They're all staring at her a little after that. "You… know where Jon is?" Martin says, surprised. 

"Not _officially_. And I won't tell you exactly where. I'm not throwing Georgie under the bus. But… yes. I know, and he's safe, and all that. Georgie's great." Melanie says it like it's a fact. No room for argument. 

"Well… good," says Sasha. "Let's hope Basira and Daisy don't find him then, I guess. I don't think we can trust Daisy. Do… do you think we can trust Basira?"

"No idea. Unless she's fallen in love with Jon and his paranoia machine and his weird sense of humor." Tim shrugs, shoots a sympathetic look Martin's way. "I'm kidding."

"We figured," Sasha says. 

“I don’t know. I mean, she’s not Scary Detective Tonner. And she gave us those tapes. It seems like she’d be a little safer. But who knows?” Martin offers. 

“I don’t know her, so I can’t really comment,” says Melanie, who seems focused on trying to balance a pencil on the end of her nose. 

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see then,” Sasha says, and that does seem to be all they can do, for now. That seems to be all they can do in a lot of situations. 

There’s one day where things seem off, about two or three weeks after Melanie is hired. Sasha holes up in Jon’s office sometimes, for quiet or for recording or the like, and the thing that sets Tim off is that they barely see her all day. Usually she’ll come out after a couple hours and go back to her desk, or at least come out and eat lunch with them, but she doesn’t come out really at all. He and Martin and Melanie work at their respective desks on their respective activities, and they don’t see Sasha, except for once when she comes out of her office, rifles frantically through various boxes of statements, and then disappears back into Jon’s office for the rest of the day.

Martin and Melanie don’t seem very concerned, but Tim is automatically worried. He knows how bogged down Sasha is, between taking on extra work in Jon’s absence, and the strain of everything with Leitner, and the nightmares she’s been having for _months_ now… They still end up spending a night or two together every week out of habit, and Tim’s seen her wake up frantic almost every time, or put off going to sleep so she can avoid the nightmares. She’s still dreaming about Artifact Storage, about the table, about a tall, monstrous shape that spoke in her voice, and Tim is _worried_. It’s been going on for too long to feel like a coincidence. But she changes the subject every time he brings it up. Doesn’t want to talk about it. And Tim doesn’t want to push her. So he holds back, even if he doesn’t want to, even if he spends too long staring at the closed door like the lovesick idiot he is. He’s ready to let it go, too, chalk it up to Sasha finding something she wants to spend time on, and everything really being fine. Until the end of the day, when Martin and Melanie are heading out, and Sasha sticks her head out of Jon’s office and says, “Tim? Can we talk for a second? I have something you should see, I think.” 

Inside, on Jon’s mostly empty desk (police searching), Sasha’s got a couple of tape recorders, a handwritten statement that Tim doesn’t recognize, and a tape with familiar handwriting across the front. It reads _CHANGELING/IMPOSTER_. “What’s… what’s all this?” he says uncertainly. 

“I figured out what the Not-Them is,” Sasha says faintly, sitting down. She looks up at Tim uncertainly, reaches out her hand before stopping, letting it hover between them. “I… I had another nightmare last night. A bad one. It was… the thing in the table was _me_. Or at least it pretended to be me. A-and no one knew it wasn’t me. Everyone looked at it and thought it was me, and they didn’t even notice I was gone…” 

“I’d notice,” Tim says immediately. He reaches out and takes her hand, holding it tight. “I’d notice if you weren’t you. I _would_. I’d… I'd always know you, Sash.”

She smiles a little at him, shakily, before lowering her head. “I know. I know. It was… it was just a dream. But I… it got me thinking. About what Leitner said, about the Not-Them. And about the Amy Patel statement… that was what happened in the dream, right? Her friend disappeared? And no one noticed but her.” She swallows hard. “And there’s two commonalities in that story and my dream,” she adds. “An imposter, and that table.”

Tim’s chest hurts, and he can’t even say why. He can’t explain it. And he can’t let go of Sasha’s hand. “So… so you think it’s that table?” he says, voice shaking. “The one in Artifact Storage? You think it… replaced Graham Folger? And you’ve been dreaming about it for months?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Sasha says, voice stronger. “I wasn’t. So I looked. I… I remembered a tape I saw in the box, the one that said _Imposter_ on it. And it made me think about Amy Patel, and my dreams, and Jurgen Leitner… and so I listened to it. And then I found this statement, that Gertrude references in the final comments of the tape… They’re both about the same thing, Tim.” She taps the paper statement with her free hand. “Someone gets replaced by these… things. The Not-Them. Somebody else notices, just one or two people. It’s part of the Stranger, Gertrude said, and it…” She taps the statement again and again. “In this table, the thing was _attached_ to the table.”

“The table upstairs,” says Tim. Sasha nods. He squeezes her hand again, their fingers jamming together. “And you… you’ve been having dreams about this.” She nods again. Tim takes a deep, shaky breath, his chest clenching so hard that he feels like it can barely breathe. “Do you… do you think it’s targeting you,” he says, nearly rasping.

“It’s me,” Sasha says immediately. “Tim, it’s me, I swear… I-it messes with pictures, but not Polaroids, and the voices on recordings won’t change. I have proof, okay? It didn’t get me, I have proof.” She pushes a Polaroid towards him—the two of them cheek to cheek, grinning, taking a sideways selfie because it’s difficult to get a good selfie with an actual Polaroid camera. Pushes a tape recorder towards him, finger hovering over the Play button.

“I—of _course_ ,” Tim says, incredulous. He pushes forward in his chair, their knees knocking together, and folds his arms around her. “Of course it’s still you, Sash. I know that. I _know_ that,” he mumbles into her hair. She’s got her arms around him too, almost immediately, face in his shoulder, fingers digging into his shirt. He pulls her a little closer and blinks back tears without really knowing why. “I know you,” he says.

She sniffles into his shirt before pulling back, wiping her eyes briefly. “Thanks, Tim,” she says thickly. He nods; he takes her hand again and pulls it quickly up to kiss her knuckles. She sniffles again, smiling briefly and squeezing his hand, before turning back to the desk. “I… I think it is trying to get me, though. I’ve… gone to Artifact Storage a bunch while working late and just… stood outside the door. And it’s not… it’s not safe. I mean, it’s just _up_ there, and there are people who _work_ in Artifact Storage, every day—i-if it’s not one of us, it could be one of them…” 

“R-right, right,” Tim says, nodding. “And it’s part of the Stranger, it might be involved in this… Unknowing thing…”

“I want to destroy it,” says Sasha, voice fierce. “The table. If… if it could kill that thing…”

“Yeah,” Tim says immediately. “Yeah, we should destroy it. Make sure it’s gone. Make sure it can’t hurt anyone ever again.” A grin spreads rapidly over Sasha’s face and she nods. Tim grins back without helping it, bumps their knees together again and says, “So how you want to do it? _When_ do you want to do it? Tonight?”

“N-no, I thought tomorrow, actually,” she says. “I thought we’d catch Martin up. Maybe Melanie, too, I don’t know… but none of us should go near that thing alone. Ever. And if there’s more of… that thing than we expect…”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “Yeah. No, that makes sense. We'll wait."

“And as for how…” Sasha pulls open the top drawer and pulls out a lighter. The web-designed lighter, the one that those delivery men brought along with the table. “I thought maybe burning it. Down in the tunnels. All stone down there, so nothing will catch.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah.” Tim grins wider. “That sounds weirdly fun. I bet Martin will be into it, too, he seems like the arson type.”

“Oh, definitely” Sasha taps the lighter against her knee, puts it on the top of the desk. “We’ve got this, right? Right?”

“Oh, absolutely. We do. One more night, and then you’ll never have this nightmare again,” Tim says, meaning it with everything in him. He needs it to be true. He needs this to be over, for Sasha to be safe. He won’t lose anyone else to the fucking Stranger. Never again.

(They end up back at his place, playing poker and Bullshit and Go Fish on his made bed, piling up chips like skyscrapers. Tim loses five times in a row, and Sasha sprawls out on his pillow, yawning and yawning. Tim tries to get her to move over and she refuses, and they’re both laughing and yawning and talking sleepily, pushing lightly and each other's arms, and he leans in to kiss her. She kisses him back, just for a minute, or at least he thinks she does. And then she draws back and says, “Tim…” and he pulls back immediately, whispers, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and she says, “It’s okay, really,” and he climbs off the bed and says, “I’m sorry,” again. She reaches for his hand, and he takes it, briefly, before setting it back down and saying, “Get some rest, Sash. I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry." And then he walks to the door, even though she says, "Tim," again like she wants him to come back. He spends the night on his own lumpy couch, even though she texts him three times telling him he doesn’t have to. And when he wakes up in the morning, he’s very nearly forgotten the whole thing, and it seems like she has, too, because they're normal again. 

Tim just can't stop thinking that he's so fucking stupid. That Sasha is his best friend and that is _enough,_ that's enough and he needs to stop fucking up like this. She's his best friend. That's all he needs. 

They sit too close on the Tube like they always do, and Sasha teases him about his coffee flavoring, and it's normal. It's just them. Tim wants to apologize again, but he doesn't. He's got two texts from her telling him to stop apologizing. The coffee's burned his tongue. He bumps his shoulder against hers and makes a joke about tasteless black coffee.)

\---

Martin catches onto the plan quick, and without objection, the next morning. Sasha had mentioned wanting to talk to Melanie when she got in, but Melanie isn’t in yet when they get there. So it’s just the three of them traipsing up to Artifact Storage to retrieve the table. Sasha serves as lookout—it’s early, so she says the Artifact Storage employees are probably still going to be in the break room, but better safe than sorry—while Tim and Martin pick up the table and carry it out. It’s a small one, but it’s a lot heavier than it looks. (“What a workout, huh?” Tim says, wheezing while they’re walking down the stairs to the Archives. “Carry a giant spider table that steals people’s identities! Put that in a gym."

“Don’t make me give you the spider lecture, Tim. I am carrying a very heavy table right now,” Martin says, sounded just as winded.) 

They don't get caught, incredibly enough, considering how much noise they're making—Sasha, manning the outside of the table in an attempt to loosen the weight, hisses a loud, "Shh!" every time they bang it into the side of the wall. Elias probably Knows already, they all know that, but Tim isn't too worried about that. 

(Melanie is the only one who does see them in the end, brushing past them and heading for her desk while they're headed for the tunnels. "What the hell are you doing?" she says, sounding almost amused. 

"Setting a giant evil table on fire," Martin says tiredly. 

"Want to come?" Sasha offers. 

Melanie surveys them briefly. "Mmm, think I'll pass. I'll keep a lookout, though."

"That'd be grand," says Tim. He's liked Melanie more and more the longer she's worked here.)

Once they've managed to get the table down the ladder—a feat in and of itself—Sasha pulls out Jon's lighter, and a can of gasoline and a fire extinguisher that she apparently had stashed behind the ladder. Tim whistles lowly, impressed. "Can of gas at the ready? How long have you been hiding your arsonistic tendencies, James?"

She shrugs. "Thought it might be useful. Gertrude had gasoline in the tape, remember? To burn down the Archives or whatever?"

"Don't let Jon catch you with that. Remember—" Tim puts on his best stuffy Jon voice: _"I won't have any sources of ignition in my Archives, Sasha!"_

Sasha grins a little. "Sure. But Jon's not here, remember?" She leans down over the table, poking the top with one finger before looking away quickly. Can't get pulled in. "Will one of you get the trapdoor?"

"Oh, uh, we should probably leave it open, actually," Martin says. "Don't want to die of smoke inhalation, right?"

"Oh, yeah. Good thinking." With that, Sasha pushes the fire extinguisher over with her foot, scoops up the can of gas and sloshes it over the table in great amounts. She holds up the lighter, clicking it on, and the flame flickers in the stale air of the tunnel. Tim watches with a sort of relish, thinking about the Amy Patel statement, about how scared Sasha's been after her nightmares. Thinking about how Sasha broke down in Jon's office, at the idea of being forgotten. It's probably petty to be mad at a _table,_ but the Stranger took his brother and it tried to take Sasha and he can't wait to watch it burn. 

"Okay," says Sasha, lighter in hand. "Okay, are you guys ready?" Martin and Tim nod. "Okay," she repeats softly, decisively. "Stand back." And she lets the lighter fall on the tabletop. 

The flames rise fast, the whole table alight in minutes. Sasha steps back with Tim and Martin, the three of them stepping away from the flaming table but staying close enough to watch. The wood cracks as it burns, creaking almost like it's in pain, and Tim can't help but be glad. It's beautiful, in an odd sort of way, this table that wanted to hurt his friend, that hurt so many other people, falling apart. The sort of thing he hopes for when they find the Circus. Sasha looks quickly down at him—ever taunting about the fact that she's a few inches taller—and grins, briefly, elated. Tim grins back, pushing away memories of the night before. 

"Do…" Martin starts, uncertain. "Do you think it's working?" 

The table splits under the weight of the flames, legs collapsing. Tim tenses, as if he's waiting for something to come out, to come and steal his friends' identities. But there's nothing there; just empty, charred wood. Sasha extends a hand towards the fire extinguisher before drawing it back. "I don't…" she says softly, watching the flame flicker out where it meets the stone floor outside of the burning pile of wood. "I don't know if it's dead…"

Sudden laughter echoes behind them in the tunnels, laughter coming from none of them, laughter that could only be described as _warped._ "Oh," Sasha says suddenly, stronger this time. "Oh, _fuck._ Tim, Martin, get behind me."

"What?" Martin says, voice high, pushed back a little along with Tim by Sasha's outstretched arms. "What's going o—"

"That was very stupid." 

Sasha whirls, still trying to stay in front of Martin and Tim, and Tim whirls with her, stepping beside her. In the stone wall is a door, a yellow door that wasn't there before, and in front of the door is… something that might look human if it didn't look _wrong_. "Sash," Tim says unthinkingly, fumbling on instinct for her hand. She takes it without looking back, says in a steely voice, "What do you want, Michael?"

Michael—Michael?—smiles in a sly sort of way. "We are friends, aren't we, Sasha? I warned you before. Saved you all from Becoming a Hive. And now I've come to warn you again."

"Warn us of _what_?" Sasha snaps, pressing an arm protectively in front of Martin, holding on tighter to Tim's hand. At their feet, the fire has gone out; it's just a pile of blackened wood. "You're not of the Stranger, are you?"

"Oh, no, I'm not with the Stranger. But I can see they've manipulated you quite effectively." Michael sounds… almost _smug._ "And now you've chosen a place to release it where there is only one way out. You won't be able to escape, not all of you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tim snaps, taking a step forward as if to move in front of Sasha. Instinctively furious at this monster and its cryptic warnings, how it manipulated Sasha, what it did to Jon. "We didn't release anything! We—"

A voice, unfamiliar and nearly as warped as Michael's, cuts him off. Calling, " _Saaasha,_ " with a taunting intensity that makes Tim's heart stutter behind his ribs. Sasha sucks in a fearful breath. "T-t-the table," she stammers. 

"Was binding it quite effectively," says Michael, maybe even a little regrettably. "It still posed a danger before, but now…"

"Oh my god," Sasha says, sounding sick to her stomach. "Oh my _god._ "

" _Saaaasha,_ " the voice comes again. It's coming from—it's coming from _above_ them. Coming from the Archives. "Sasha?" Martin says uncertainly, and Tim says, "Sasha, we need to _go_ ," pulling gently at her hand. Going further into the tunnels seems like a shit idea, but what choice do they have? Maybe they can lose it. 

"Melanie," Sasha says in a panic, turning and gripping Tim's arm. "She's _alone_ up there, they'll… they'll take her."

"You can't escape on your own," Michael says smugly. "You need a door."

"No, we don't," Sasha snaps. "I've got to go get her."

"You can't go, y-you'd be alone," Martin tries.

" _Sasha! You've let us out, Sasha!_ "

"Melanie!" Sasha bellows, but there's no answer. "I've got to go," she says again, determinedly, pulling her hand out of Tim's. 

"Sash, no," Tim tries, reaching for her hand again, but she's already stepping away. "Run. You've got to go," she says. " _Stay together._ I'll get Melanie and catch up."

"Sasha—" Martin tries, just as Tim says, "Sasha, you can't—" But Sasha is already going, running for the ladder, yelling, "Run! Both of you, run!" at the top of her lungs. 

"We can't leave her," Tim says wildly to Martin. He looks over towards Michael, but he isn't there anymore, the corridor is empty. '"Either of them. W-we'll wait, Melanie is right up there, and then we'll…"

" _Saaasha._ " The voice is closer this time, nearly whispering, which seems strange at first to Tim, since it's far off, but then— "Oh, Jesus, Jesus Christ," Martin yelps, and Tim turns to look, and there is… _something_ there. Something shadowy, not quite there, towering over them, and it doesn't make sense, because he thought it was _above_ them. It's something whose face looks human, like a person, but no one they knew. Maybe Graham Folger, the real one. Maybe someone else. 

Tim can't speak, wouldn't know what to say even if he could. Can't even move, at least not at first. And then the thing, the Not-Them— _smiles_ . Satisfied. _"You'll do,"_ it says. 

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." Martin's hand closes around Tim's wrist and pulls and Tim goes, runs along with him because he has no choice. The Not-Them still behind them, and Tim's mind is racing in place with his pounding feet, and he thinks, _Sasha, Sasha and Melanie,_ and he bellows, "Sasha! Sasha, Melanie, run!" Off in the distance, he thinks he hears Sasha's voice—her real voice—calling, _Tim!_ and then there is the Not-Them, laughing, calling out as they turn a corner, _"We'll take you all, Tim. Every one of you. Just like we took your brother."_

Tim sees red for a moment, stumbles, his hand scraping against the stone wall, and he bellows, " _Shut up!_ " Martin's free hand fumbles towards Tim's face, as if trying to cover his mouth, and Tim flinches away, stepping in the direction of the Not-Them only briefly before Martin's pulling him away again. 

_"My original target was Sasha, but I suppose now I have options,"_ the Not-Them says, taunting them, hunting them. Tim bites his lip to keep from shouting so hard that he tastes blood. " _But I_ will _wear one of you. Either of the two of you, or perhaps Melanie or Sasha. Or even the Archivist. And I can promise it will_ hurt _."_

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Martin hisses panickedly, face flushed with horror, but he doesn't stop running, and so Tim doesn't stop either. He allows Martin to pull him along, pushing back the urge to shout at the creature or to call for Sasha, praying that it won't go for her if it's chasing them. He runs and runs until the corridor comes to an abrupt end, nothing but a stone wall and a door. 

Tim and Martin fumble for the handle at the same time, pushing it open too hard and almost falling through. The taunts of the Not-Them seem to fade as soon as they cross the threshold, crossing into not more tunnels, but into a hall that almost resembles an odd hotel. Colorful walls and rugs, spiraling down in endless patterns Tim can't follow, and the hall seems to go on forever. It feels… strange here. Not right. Heads spinning. Uneven. Distorted. "Where the hell are we?" Tim says, faintly, just as Martin says, "No—this isn't—" and they both turn for the door just as it slams closed. Handle gone. Nothing to open. 

Somewhere, somewhere, Michael is laughing. 

\---

The thing is still calling her name as Sasha ascends the ladder, fumbling at old wooden rungs, trying to memorize Melanie's face. If this thing takes Melanie, not even a month into her being trapped here because of Sasha's foolishness… Sasha pictures Melanie again and again, the face she swears she knows, falling over the edge of the trapdoor, and calling again, " _Melanie_?" 

Melanie doesn't come out, but Sasha stumbles a few more steps and then she sees her, huddled between boxes and shelves, incredulity and fear on her face. "Sasha, what the _fuck?_ " she whispers. 

"Come on, come with me," Sasha says, thrusting out her hand. 

Melanie takes it, lets Sasha pull her to her feet and halfway drag her along, going for her desk. "What the—what the hell did you _do_?" she hisses. 

"W-we made a mistake." Sasha stops at her desk, kneels and yanks open the bottom drawer. "We thought we were destroying… something that would hurt people. A monster. And we—we set it free. Melanie, I'm so sorry." She finds the book in the bottom drawer and snatches it, holding it to her chest. A dangerous thing that might be able to save them. Leitner's _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_. 

"Wha—w-why are we going back to the tunnels?" Melanie stammers, confused. "S-shouldn't we run upstairs?"

"Tim and Martin are still down there. I've got to go back for them. And I-I… we can't split up. If we're alone, then it can take us. Make it like we were never here." Sasha turns towards Melanie at the trapdoor, eyes undoubtedly wild. "Just… just stay with me, okay? I-I'm going to fix this. I won't let it take you. I promise."

Melanie's expression is uncertain, uneasy as she sort of nods. "Sasha…" she says, the beginning of a question in her voice. And then Tim's voice echoes from down in the tunnels: "Sasha! Sasha, Melanie, run!"

" _Tim!_ " Sasha calls, frantically, and lurches for the trap door, for the ladder. She's headed down without thinking, and is relieved to hear Melanie coming along with her. The— _thing_ , the monster that Sasha released because she was _scared,_ is laughing, somewhere in the tunnels, chasing Tim and Martin further and further in. Saying something about Tim's brother, saying something about how it will wear one of them. Tim shouts something furious further in the corridor. "Goddamnit," Sasha growls. "Tim! Martin!" she nearly screams, praying they'll answer. Remembering their faces in her mind, holding on to them. 

They don't answer. All she can hear is their distant footfalls, and the smug voice of the Not-Them. "Sasha?" Melanie says, voice high, still hurrying along with her. "I _do_ trust you—but I _don't_ want that thing to find us. I… w-what's the plan? What are we…" 

"I've got this," Sasha says, praying she does. She stops in the corridor, standing in front of Melanie, as protectively as she can, and opens the book. Doesn't read it, not yet, but thumbs through the corners—the ones that Leitner dog-eared, and the ones she marked herself. 

"I-I have a knife," Melanie says, and a bit of metal flashes in her hand. "Might be… better in protecting us t-than throwing a book at this thing."

Sasha laughs at that. "Probably would be," she says. "Let's call it a last resort, okay?" She looks at the walls, finds the right page and opens the book to it. She can do this. She's done this before, in the tunnels on the nights she stayed late; she's never read it long, and the claustrophobia stopped being as bad after a while. She can do this. 

She swallows, gathering her resolve. Pushes back the memories of the nightmares where this thing stole her away, holds on to the memory of the reassurance in Tim's dark eyes when he told her he'd always know her. She presses Melanie a little closer to the wall, hoping to save her if no one else. She shouts, as loudly as she can, "Hey! You wanted me? Come and get me!" And then she lowers her eyes and starts to read. 

"Sasha…" Melanie says uncertainly, lifting her knife. Down the hallway, the Not-Them sings, " _Saaaasha_." Sasha keeps reading, turning pages, picturing the way she wants the walls to move. If fucking creepy Jurgen Leitner can do it, she can, too. 

_"Sasha,"_ the Not-Them says, closer now. _"I chose you for a reason. You were a perfect one to take. So loved by all your coworkers… but would they have noticed if it wasn't you?"_

A teardrop hits Leitner's book. Sasha blinks hard, keeps turning pages. 

_"You were always wanted for this. Ever since we came here. We knew you would come back to Artifact Storage eventually… that you were just too curious."_

"Sasha!" Melanie says, voice rasping, seizing her shirt. Sasha doesn't turn back. 

_"Are you ready, Sasha?"_ it says. _"It will hurt. It_ will _hurt. But when it's finished…"_

Sasha hears a scrape, the movement of stone. "Fuck _off_!" she shouts, hands tightening around the book, her eyes sweeping over the last bit of the paragraph she needs. And then the Not-Them screams. 

And then it is done. Sasha knows when it's done, and she lets the book drop then. Turns to Melanie, stepping away, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hands, and says as steadily as she can, "Are you okay?"

"Um," says Melanie. "Sure? I mean, Jesus Christ, that was…"

"I know," Sasha says. "I'm so sorry. I thought… I thought I was hurting it."

"That thing was trying to hurt you?" Melanie motions forward, at the place where the Not-Them was before the wall opened up and swallowed it. 

"For a long time," says Sasha. 

"Oh," says Melanie, and then she leans forward and wraps her arms briefly around Sasha. "Glad you're okay."

Sasha sniffs, wraps an arm around her back and squeezes briefly. "You, too. Sorry I put you in danger."

"Hey, it's part of the job description, right?" Melanie shrugs as she leans back. "Besides, you took care of it. In a pretty badass way. Jon _wishes_ he could do shit like that."

Sasha laughs at that, really laughs and scrubs at her eyes. Turns around and surveys the corridor—empty aside from them—before reaching down and pulling the Polaroid out from her pocket. She'd found it in one of Jon's drawers and brought it down with her just in case the burning went south. And now she's glad she did. It's a picture of the four of them from Martin's birthday. Sasha stares at Martin and Tim's faces and feels a rush of relief when she still recognizes them. They haven't been replaced. She hasn't lost them. 

"We need to find Martin and Tim," she says to Melanie, thinking of Tim's frantic voice, the sound of them running. (Trying not to think of last night, when she pushed Tim away; she keeps being scared and pulling back, and she keeps regretting it, and last night could have been their last chance… but she can't think that way. Tim is alive and they still have time and she hasn't ruined anything yet.) 

Melanie nods, moves down the corridor in the direction of the Not-Them and calls out, "Martin? Tim? It's safe to come out now!"

Sasha falls into place beside her, calling their names, too. She expects to find them down the hall a bit, huddled down in some corridor, or maybe coming their way because they heard her trap the Not-Them. But they keep walking and walking, and Martin and Tim keep not answering, and Sasha's panic starts to build back up again. She keeps pulling out the Polaroid and staring at the faces and reassuring herself that she knows them all. They aren't unfamiliar yet, and she tells herself this is a good sign as she bellows again, "Tim! Martin!" and shudders a little when there is no answer. 

"Uh, Sasha?" Melanie says, catching her arm gingerly. "Is there… supposed to be a door here?"

Sasha looks up in time to see the corridor ending where it should not end—she's been able to memorize these corridors better since Leitner stopped moving everything, and she _knows_ there should not be a wall here. And there should not be a yellow door either. A yellow door that she recognizes, because she listened to the Helen Richardson tape after Jon was attacked; she knows what this means. 

_"No."_ Sasha grabs the doorknob and rattles it, but it will not budge. As if it is locked. "Martin? Tim?" she shouts all over again, slapping the old wood of the door. "Can you hear me? Are you in there?" Still no answer, not even a knocking from the other side, and real rage rises in Sasha now. She kicks the door as hard as she can, yanking at the doorknob, nearly screaming, "Michael! Michael, bring them back!" Melanie starts pounding on the door alongside her, shouting Martin and Tim's names, and Sasha kicks the door again and again until her toes ache, screaming as loud as she can, "Bring them back! You can't take them, too!" even though it's no use. She screams and pounds and slings accusations of false friendship, but it is no use; Michael either isn't listening or doesn't care. And all Sasha can think is that she doesn't understand how she could be so stupid, _again;_ how she was so focused on the Not-Them and the danger of it, that she didn't even consider that Martin and Tim could be in danger from something else. That now it might be too late. 

\---

Jon's gotten another tape, assumedly from Elias, recorded by Gertrude. The story of a plumber who met agents of the Stranger. Gertrude mentions a dozen different things at the end of the tape that concerns Jon, including her suspicion that the Unknowing will be performed in the next few years—the statement was given in 2014 and recorded in 2015, so the possibility of the Unknowing being soon seems potent. And then there's the mention of the Lightless Flame, which Jon recognizes from previous statements, and someone associated with it named Jude Perry. Jon is initially tempted to try and track Perry down, a part of this search for information on the Unknowing, information in general. But a combination of uncertainty at the wiseness of this—does Elias want him to find Jude Perry? And isn't he supposed to avoid playing into Elias's plans?—and discouragement from Georgie changes his mind. It just seems like a bad idea. 

Georgie is displeased with the whole situation: first with his decision to listen to the tape, and then with his reaction afterwards, how bad he clearly feels at the end of it all. She tells him she doesn't want any more tapes or statements in the flat, and she seems as creeped out as he is by the sudden weird playing of circus music outside the flat. The only thing that relaxes her is Jon conceding that he doesn't actually plan to chase down Jude Perry, as much as he might want to. She wants him to let this go, as much as he can considering the circumstances; she wants the same for Melanie, too. Jon can't even really blame her for her reaction; how can he? He knows how unwise pursuing any of this is; he was warned a long time ago. He just doesn't have a way out, between being trapped at the Institute and having a responsibility—to Martin and Tim and Sasha and Melanie, and to the world, now that its end is in question. 

So: he doesn't chase Jude Perry, at least not physically. But he does research, as much as he can without Institute resources. He researches for nearly a week without having much luck, trying to figure out who Jude Perry is and what her place is in all this. That's what he's doing when they get the call, sitting on the couch and searching for Jude Perry on Georgie's old laptop. 

Georgie is working on the script for an episode of _What the Ghost_ in the old lumpy chair, the Admiral draped over her shoulders, but she gets up when the phone rings. (She doesn't want Jon answering the phone at all ever since she found out he was on the run for murder.) Jon only half-listens as she picks up the phone and says, "Georgie Barker speaking." Her voice goes instantly warmer and lighter as she says, "Oh, hi, Melanie. It's so good to hear from you." She listens for a moment before saying, "Okay. Okay, just a sec. Jon?" Jon looks up at the extended phone receiver. "Melanie says your coworker Sasha wants to talk to you."

Jon's stomach twists as if on cue. Maybe he shouldn't worry, since Melanie is at the Institute now and Melanie knows he's with Georgie; maybe nothing is wrong. But he gave them the number for emergencies; Martin only used it when Melanie got trapped along with them. He sort of doubts they'd use it just to chat after tha. Therefore, he has to assume something is wrong. He crosses the room gingerly and takes the phone. "Hello? Sasha?" 

"Jon?" Sasha's voice is quivering on the other end, just a little. "Uh… something's happened. It's a bit of a long story but…"

"What? What is it, what happened?" Jon says, fingers tightening around the receiver, panicked. "Are you all right? Are any of you hurt? Martin, Tim, Melanie?" Georgie's head snaps up automatically from the chair she's returned to.

"I'm fine," Sasha says, unconvincingly. "And Melanie's fine, but…" She takes a deep breath on the other end. "It's… Michael. There was an incident. We were hiding from something in the tunnel, and I got separated from Tim and Martin. And… Michael took them. They went in the door."

Oh, Jesus Christ. Jon sways a little in place, drawn with fear, knuckles white around the receiver. Remembering only the moment that Helen Richardson had left his office, when Michael refused to bring her back. Said she was gone. And _now_ , Martin and Tim…

 _What's wrong?_ Georgie mouths, drawing closer. Jon shakes his head, unsure who he's saying no to. Unwilling to admit that this might be Helen Richardson all over again. "I… I'll come. I'll be there. As soon as I can, I'll be there, Sasha," he says immediately, voice shaking. Thinking of that last glimpse he got of all of their faces when he disappeared into the tunnel, Tim's face twisted with astonishment, and Martin's with worry as he tried to follow before Tim pulled him back. "We're going to find them. We have to… We'll get them back."

\---

Georgie goes with him, even after Jon repeatedly tells her Melanie is fine. Says she wants to make sure they're _both_ okay. Jon doesn't have the energy to argue, even though he doesn't like the idea of bringing Georgie there. They go through the tunnels, the same way he escaped the last time—an attempt at covertness, as if this will help them avoid Elias or the police. It will have to be enough. Jon's honestly relieved just to be able to get from one side to the other without getting lost. They find the trapdoor in a pretty decent amount of time. 

Melanie and Sasha are sitting back in the stacks near the door, surrounded by a variety of books and statements. Melanie jumps about a foot when Jon shoves the door open, fumbling for a knife at her side, but she relaxes when she sees who it is. "What happened?" Jon demands when he climbs out of the trapdoor, but Melanie isn't paying attention; she's coming over to greet Georgie, saying, "What are you _doing_ here?" as Georgie leans in to hug her. 

Sasha looks like she hasn't slept in a week, but she also looks pretty relieved to see them. "Are you all right?" Jon asks, making an effort to soften his voice some this time as he helps her up. 

She nods, pushing hair out of her face and patting his arm in a sort of thankful way, he thinks. "It was… I was so stupid," she says quietly. "This is my fault."

"I'm sure that isn't true," says Jon, believing it. "But what _happened_?"

Sasha fills him in quickly, about the nightmares and the statements and the table and the Not-Them. Jon hadn't even _known_ she was having these nightmares, but suddenly their interaction in front of Artifact Storage is making a lot more sense. She ends on finding the door in the tunnel that wouldn't open and just knowing. "W-we looked around a little bit and we haven't been able to find them," she says. "And I've been… trying to get Michael to come back but I haven't been able to. He isn't listening."

"It's fine. We're going to get them back," Jon says, even though he can't stop thinking about what Michael said after Helen Richardson was taken, how she never showed back up again. 

" _How?_ " Sasha says, voice drawn with frustration. 

"Wait a sec," Melanie says suddenly. "You said Michael offered you a way out, right? A way to escape? Is there any chance that he could've done this to save Tim and Martin?"

"I _doubt_ it," says Jon, and the scar on his side automatically seems to twinge with old pain. "I could see him maybe doing that as a favor to Sasha, but…"

"He's not my friend," Sasha says sharply. "He's… got his own motivations in this. I don't know. I hope it's enough for him to let Tim and Martin go. But I don't trust him."

"Could you go after them?" Georgie offers. "Into the doorway, I mean?"

Sasha blinks in surprise, like she didn't realize Georgie was here. "I… would if I could," she says. "The door wouldn't open. I tried. He wouldn't let me in."

"We can try the tunnels. Maybe Michael is still down there somehow," Jon says. "Other than that…"

"Let's try that," says Sasha, "and if it doesn't work, we'll try something else. I can't just sit here and wait for them to pop out like nothing's wrong." And Jon couldn't agree with that more. 

\---

They spend a long time searching in the tunnels. Maybe too long. Melanie and Georgie help for a few hours (even though Georgie is worried about Jon and Melanie's involvement, and even though she's starved for context on about half of this, Jon knows she's not the type to just stand by while people are missing). But they head out after a couple of hours. Sasha doesn't seem to mind; she apologizes about three times to Melanie (and once even to Georgie) and tells her to get some rest and take a couple days off, because in her words, Elias can go fuck himself. Georgie subtly seems to suggest that Jon should come home, too, but Jon refuses. Danger or not, he's not leaving until he sees Martin and Tim safe. 

They have no luck. The door is gone, Sasha and Melanie report, from where they found it, like it was never there in the first place. Leitner isn't down there moving the tunnels, and the Not-Sasha is assuredly trapped. There's nothing down here now but empty corridors and dusty walls. 

Jon and Sasha are both stubborn, liable to keep looking all night and into the morning if no one stops them. But Sasha also looks like she might fall over any minute. So sometime after midnight, Jon suggests they go back to the office for the time being. "We can take a few minutes, get something to eat," he offers. "And maybe they'll be back there by now."

They aren't. The office is empty. The rest of the Institute is empty. Even Elias is gone for the night. Sasha tries both their numbers twice but it goes straight to voicemail. The ringing doesn't even sound right, she says; it sounds all wrong and distorted, and that's how Jon knows they must still be in there. 

So Jon and Sasha hole up in the break room, in the meantime. Sasha starts the coffee maker and takes a takeaway box out of the fridge, while Jon digs in the cabinets until he finds Martin's brand of tea. Grabbing the bent cardboard box makes him strangely nostalgic, makes his chest tighten on instinct; he hasn't had this tea for a month and a half, since Georgie buys a different brand, and he hadn't even realized he missed it. The box is still mostly full, like Martin bought it recently, and all Jon can think is that now Martin might never be able to finish it. That he might be gone now, really gone, with a box full of unused tea bags, lost in a corridor alongside Helen Richardson, and Tim is there, too, gone and still furious before Jon can ever tell him how sorry he is, and they really might never come back. And Jon has to sit down abruptly at the break room table, one hand over his eyes. 

"I'm so fucking stupid," Sasha says suddenly, slamming her mug down on the table so abruptly that coffee sloshes over the side. "I never should have left them alone, what the hell was I thinking? I thought the thing was up there, and I had to get Melanie, and I thought they could get away…" 

"No, Sasha, come on, it's not your fault," Jon says immediately. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I… I should have _been_ here."

"But you couldn't be," Sasha says, like this is obvious. "You took the fall for Leitner's _murder_. We all know why you weren't here."

"I should have been more _aware_. I should have done something about that damned table when Martin told me to. I should have noticed that the Not-Them were targeting you in the first place. I have been… incredibly self absorbed, and all of you are paying the price."

"Right, because taking the fall for that murder was very self-absorbed," says Sasha. "You didn't notice me being targeted because I didn't tell anyone but Tim. And you were a prick, yeah. But I don't know if you were being entirely self-absorbed. And this…" She breaks it off, looks down at the table and swipes at her eyes. "This could have happened if you were here or not. Michael attacked before and none of us even noticed."

Jon swallows hard, looking down at his own empty mug. "It really is my fault when you think about it," he says quietly. "I should never have asked you and Tim to be transferred with me. And Martin… I should have blocked his transfer, too. Should've… gone through with firing him on that first day. Gotten him _out._ "

"Over the dog?" Sasha laughs a little. "It really wasn't _that_ bad, you know."

"Yes, I know." Jon bites back a little bit of a smile himself. 

"You wouldn't have been able to get him out anyway. Elias would have blocked it. And Tim and me… it would've been someone else if not us. Someone else like Melanie. This… this was always going to happen. And you couldn't have _known_ , Jon." Sasha taps the table in an authoritative type of way, but her hands are shaking a bit. "We don't… I don't blame you for us being trapped here. None of us had any idea. So… it's not your fault. It can't be."

Jon sighs, poking his mug with one finger. "I suppose you're right. Still. I would've… liked to stop this."

"Me, too." Sasha sighs, too, letting her face fall into her palms. "Do you think they're… gone? That we won't be able to get them back? Like Helen Richardson?" 

"I don't know." He wishes he did. He wants some sort of confirmation, anything to let them know that they're all right. But he really doesn't know. If Helen Richardson is any indication of how this works, then it looks like they might never see Martin and Tim again. 

The idea makes Jon sick to his stomach. It makes him think of Leitner, the cavalier way he'd mentioned Gertrude's assistants and their unpleasant ends. He'd sworn it wouldn't happen again, that he wouldn't _let_ it happen. But what if that's something beyond his control? 

"I need to find them," Sasha says, voice breaking. "But I don't know… I don't know where else to look." 

Jon's not sure if there's anywhere else they _can_ look. If he understands anything about Michael and the entity he apparently serves, it's that they won't find the corridor unless it wants them to. 

They end up back in Jon's office. Sasha wants to show him what she's been working on, namely the statements she found that led to destroying the table, but also the little bit of research they've gathered on the Unknowing. The desk is cluttered with tapes and statements and old pictures—Polaroids and regular pictures alike, of Martin and Tim and Sasha and even a few of Jon. "I… just wanted to check," Sasha explains, voice edged with sleepiness. She gets midway through an explanation before she's yawning too much to talk, which is when Jon tells her to get some rest. He talks her into using his old cot, and she's asleep within minutes. 

Jon stays at his desk. It's strangely comforting, being back here for the first time in months. Sasha's moved things around a bit, but it's mostly the way he left it. He reads through the things Sasha left out, plays a couple of tapes from Gertrude on low volume. Georgie calls sometime around two in the morning to tell him to get some sleep, and to ask how the search is going. "No luck," Jon says exhaustedly. "I'm worried that there's… there's no real point in looking. That it's too late." 

"Do you really believe that?" Georgie asks, and Jon doesn't know how to answer. All he can say is, "I hope not."

"Well, you should get some sleep, Jon. It's late, and your friends aren't going to benefit if you and Sasha are passing out from exhaustion." Georgie's voice is that place between firm and gentle. "Melanie's here. She's asleep now, but she's coming back at some point tomorrow to help look, okay?"

"Okay," Jon says. "Tell her… I appreciate the help."

"You can tell her yourself, right?" Georgie says, edged with amusement. "And _be careful,_ okay? I don't want to hear about you getting arrested. _I_ don't want to get arrested. Melanie says they call the cop looking for you Scary Detective Tonner, and that doesn't sound pleasant. Keep a low profile. Stay safe."

"Right, I will. Thank you, Georgie." 

" _Sleep_ ," Georgie says again, just before she hangs up. So Jon does, a few hours leaning on his desk. He still wakes hours before Sasha does and spends an hour or two poking around the tunnels, looking for doors or odd shadows or anything strange and distorted, calling Tim's and Martin's names. There's still no sign of them. 

\---

Tim knows that they are out of the hallways when the tapes start working again. He tells Martin this with a surety in his voice. Martin doesn't even notice. He's exhausted after hours of changing, shifting hallways, walking and walking only to go nowhere, things not being _right._ And the woman who can only be Helen Richardson, who they couldn't help. He doesn't know how long it's been since they first walked into that corridor, or what happened after they left, doesn't know if Sasha and Melanie are safe or if they're even still _them_. He hasn't been able to focus for long on that since they've left, but now that they're back… 

Tim's worried. He keeps messing with the tape recorder, keeps speaking in a sharp-lined, abrupt voice. Keeps scanning the hallways they appeared in (the upstairs of the Institute) to look for Sasha or Melanie. But there's no sign of them. Martin keeps telling himself that they must be okay, they'd have to be, that he'd _know_ if they weren't okay. But he knows the truth: he has no idea. You never have any idea, not really. How could you?

He and Tim go down to the Archives, because it makes the most sense. Tim's watch isn't working, but they pass a few employees in the hallway, so Martin figures it must be a workday, and so Sasha and Melanie are probably there if they made it out. He's not sure what he expects to find on the other side of that door, but it's genuinely a relief to see Melanie there, sitting on top of her desk flipping frantically through papers. She looks up as soon as the door opens, and relief immediately flickers over her face. "Oh thank fucking Christ, you guys are okay," she says, jumping down. "Tim? Martin? That's really you in there?"

"Melanie?" Martin says dumbly, unsure of what else to say. "You… you're okay, too, yeah?"

"Where's Sasha?" Tim blurts. He looks awful, half a phantom from wandering in the halls—hair mussed and sweaty, dark circles under his eyes, swaying in place—and Martin can read the blatant worry on his face. "Where's—she's okay, too? Is she all right?"

"She's fine, she's badass and resourceful, and she's _very_ worried about you two… hold on, hold on, I'm going to get them. They stayed up half the night trying to find you." Melanie holds up a finger and whirls around to pound on the door to Jon's office. "They're back now! We can call off the search now, they got back safe!"

 _They?_ Martin thinks distantly, but Sasha's out the door before he can think about it very much. "Oh, thank god," she says in an abrupt exhale, hurrying towards them. "Oh my god, are you guys okay? I'm so sorry. I couldn't find you, I'm so sorry."

"Sash," Tim says, voice croaking with worry, and he and Sasha sort of collide as she comes towards him, her arms wrapping tight around him, him nearly lifting her off the ground. "I was so worried." 

"Are you okay?" Sasha says, voice breaking. She reaches out to tug Martin into the hug, arms around his shoulders. "Tim? Martin? Did it… did he hurt you?"

Martin shakes his head, brain sticky and spinning, just happy to see that Sasha and Melanie made it out, too. He loops his arms back around Sasha in a brief hug before pulling back, blinking at the fluorescents and wondering if he should hug Melanie, when someone else emerges from the office. It's Jon, staring at them with a sort of surprise, and the shock of it is enough that Martin just blurts, " _Jon?_ " 

Tim looks in surprise over Sasha's shoulder. Jon just sort of stares at them for a minute, then he steps closer to them and says, "You're back." There's something like relief in his voice, genuine relief, and it's been enough time since Jon's been in this office that it's genuinely a little odd to see him there. He reaches for Martin's arm like he's going to pat it or something, before pulling back at the last second. "Are you both all right? Are you hurt?"

"W-what are you doing here?" Martin says, exhausted and reassured and worried and confused all in one moment. Thinking about Scary Detective Tonner and wondering if she's watching the Institute, if she knows Jon is here. 

"I called him," Sasha says, still holding on to Tim, but turned a bit to face them. "I thought he could help."

"But… the police," Martin says, still thrown. "Aren't they still…"

"I was careful. They haven't found me yet," says Jon, voice steady. "I… I needed to come. I never should've left in the first place." He does pat Martin's arm this time, a bit awkwardly somewhere above the elbow, looking between him and Tim. 

Tim's the first to break the silence. "It's good to see you, Jon," he says, and Martin guesses by his voice that he's on his way to forgiving Jon for all this. Maybe, just maybe. "Now that we're all safe, right? Or… as safe as we can be, I guess."

Jon takes a deep breath and smiles. Not a full smile, but more of a smile than they've seen out of him in probably a year, and it really is good to see him again. "It's good to see you, too, Tim."

At that moment, Sasha corrals them into a messy sort of a group hug, clumsily enough with limbs sticking all over the place—she even tugs Melanie in to be a part of it. It's awkward, of course, because they're all exhausted, nearly dead on their feet, and Jon hasn't been here in months, but Martin doesn't care. He genuinely doesn't mind one bit. And no one else protests, either. Sasha's still whispering frantic apologies, and Tim's trying to tell her it's okay, and Jon's arm ends up pressed up against Martin's back, and Martin, exhausted and upset as he is, can't help but be beyond relieved that they're all here, together, after all of this. 

\---

They all decide to go home. Well, Sasha tells them all they should go home, and then looks over at Jon almost apologetically. Jon honestly couldn't care less and he tells her so; he hasn't felt like much of a boss in over a year now, and maybe he never has. And besides that, he's not going to argue the point of _any_ of them going home; Lord knows they all deserve it. 

Jon ends up leaving before any of the rest of them, if only because they all seem pretty concerned about whether or not the police will track him down. ("Elias probably already knows you're here, so I guess we don't have to worry about him," Tim points out. "But there's still, y'know. All the other employees who think you're a murderer, and kind of think Sash and Martin and me are accomplices. So maybe go out the back?") So he sneaks out through the tunnels again. He hates to leave them alone after all this—after disastrous encounters with two separate entities, after Martin and Tim were nearly lost to the Spiral—but all four of them are insisting, and he supposes it's not as if they're staying _here_ anyway. They're going home. So Jon agrees to go home, too. 

Martin tells Jon to be careful once again, at the door to the tunnels before he leaves. "I-I don't know how hard they're looking for you, but you don't need to risk getting caught," he says. "Sc—uh, Detective Tonner seemed pretty hellbent on tracking you down. And Basira mentioned she hasn't checked in for a while. Who knows where she is now?"

"I'll be fine," Jon says. "And Martin, you—you should take some time off yourself, if you need it. You've been through a lot."

"We both have," Martin says quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "B-but yeah. I might step back, while Sasha and Tim are gone. We're still working on getting your name cleared, when we have time; maybe we can all get it sorted out soon and you can come back soon."

"That would… be nice," Jon admits, although he has no idea how to even go _about_ clearing his name. There seems to be tapes of everything except the convenient bits. "I've missed being here, strangely enough."

"That's hard to believe, considering everything," says Martin. Jon laughs a little at that, and Martin laughs, too, nervously. "I, uh—thank you for coming, Jon."

"Oh, uh, of course. Of course I'd… if anything like this happens again, just call that number, and I'll come again," Jon says in a rush. "Un-until I can come back for good, I mean. I… I'll tell Georgie to put you through from now on. And Sasha and Tim, too."

"Oh. Right. I-I will." Martin swallows, expression strangely nervous. "Stay safe, Jon, all right? Just… stay safe."

Jon gulps, nods. "I will," he says, and tries to mean it. The last thing he needs is to get caught, in the middle of all this, with his assistants—his _friends_ —still in danger, and coming fresh off what's just happened. He has no intention of walking into danger, not when he needs to be there for them as much as he can be. 

The universe doesn't seem to approach things in the same matter, considering what is waiting for him on the other end of the tunnels. Jon goes through quickly and comes out the exit he has used before, thinking of getting home to Georgie's guest bedroom and the leftovers in the fridge and the Admiral, of getting a better night's sleep than the night before. Of coming back to the Institute, maybe, to check in on Martin and Melanie, or at least calling in to check—it really does get lonely alone in Georgie's apartment all day, and after all, he didn't get caught this time. As long as the other employees at the Institute don't find him and turn him in, what's the harm? 

He's turning this idea over in his head as he climbs out of the tunnels and gets to his feet, and this is when he feels it: the shockingly cold muzzle of a gun bearing into the back of his neck. " _Don't move_ ," says Detective Tonner from where she's standing behind him, her voice as cold and as shocking at the barrel of that gun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone's curious, my motivation for keeping melanie's indoctrination into the archives was that i thought elias would take different steps to ensure it happened in a world where he knew the others would warn her pretty strongly against taking the job. (i.e. bringing it up to her without the others around.) i considered what to do with that (since i genuinely wanted to have melanie in the story), and i figured that elias would still try to get melanie there, considering his in-canon reasons. and i didn't see anyone from the archives disclosing the fact that they were trapped to melanie. 
> 
> the table sequence came from me wanting to tie up the loose end of having the table there without sasha (or anyone else) being taken. i figured it needed to go, and i needed a way to justify it, hence sasha's nightmares, etc. 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr, where i am trying out a new url, at @ghostbustermelanieking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not to point out the obvious," says Tim, voice thick with bitterness and gallows humor all at once, "but isn't five assistants a bit overkill? I mean, I've been saying forever that we're overworked, but this is ridiculous."
> 
> "I think," Sasha says with a sigh, "that's sort of the point, Tim." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this chapter ended up taking so long and being so lengthy; it's been an interesting month. hopefully the next chapter won't be so late, but school has just started and things are crazy, so i can't make any promises.
> 
> i ended up borrowing more show dialogue again, since it felt hard to move the plot along without it. i used dialogue from mag 91, 92, 99, 101, and 102. all credit for that dialogue goes to the creators. 
> 
> warning up front for some discussion and depiction of police corruption/brutality (in the vein of canon stuff from 91 & 92, and daisy in general), and for some canon-typical depictions of kidnapping (largely within the vein of 101).

On his knees in the mud in the dark, his own knife pressing into his throat, all Jon can think about is when Michael showed up in his office and stabbed him in the side. The searing pain of that, the blood that dripped all over and ruined his favorite jumper. He'd thought he was going to die in the moment, that split second of pain before it became clear that it wasn't that bad. He wonders how badly it will hurt this time. 

He thinks about Georgie and Martin and Tim and Sasha while he's pleading for his life. Wondering if she knows where he's been, if Tonner will go for them next. It's been what he's worried about the whole time, living at Georgie's and he should have _considered…_ He went to the Institute, he walked right into her trap and pulled all of them into this with him. If she goes for them next, brings them here and shoots them in the head, buries them all in this bleak, piney patch of dirt where he will be buried, it will be his fault, and only his. That scares him almost as much as dying himself. Thinking about Daisy Tonner finding and killing his friends. 

"That’s how you want it? Fine," says Daisy, lifting him nearly off the ground by his shirt. "You brought a knife. So we go through the voicebox." She presses the blade hard against Jon's neck, and he feels a slow, small drip of blood towards his collar, and his breath wheezes in wild fear. 

And then Basira appears at the treeline, shouting for Daisy to let him go. Daisy doesn't let go, but she relaxes her grip a bit and Jon sags with the release, knees dragging the ground. He presses his shirt collar to the cut to try and soak up the blood. His eyes dart wildly from Daisy to Basira, trying desperately to meet her eyes, but Basira isn't looking at him. A tear, and then another, falls, salt and copper mixing on his shirt collar. He doesn't want to die. 

Daisy thinks he's a monster. Basira says she just kills monsters, and that is why he's here, because Scary Detective Tonner thinks he is a monster. And he is one, or he is Becoming one; he can feel it even now. He might have the ability to end the world, this is what Leitner said before Elias killed him. Maybe Daisy _should_ kill him. She'd probably be saving people if she did. 

Still, he tries. He tries to pull away, although Tonner's grip on his shirt is too strong; he pulls at her hands clumsily, his own hands hindered by the cuffs she clicked on before she pushed him in the car. He doesn't want to die. He should want to, but he doesn't. 

Daisy wants to kill Elias, too. That is what she says. If nothing else—if he dies—Jon hopes she will do that. That Elias (that Jonah Magnus) _can_ die. That they'll all be freed by the Scary Detective Tonner if that's what it takes. 

"I didn’t… I didn’t kill anyone!" he tries to tell them, looking pleadingly at Basira. He'd considered her a friend, once, and a part of him hopes she still is. (And not just because there's a knife to his throat.) 

Basira meets his eyes; her own eyes are full of apology. "For god’s sake, look at him!"

"Then who?" Daisy snaps, shaking him a bit. "Your coworkers? Because I _know_ they were covering for you. I know what little liars they are. Heard that Sasha James had the blood _all_ over her hands."

"N-n-no, no. It wasn't them." Jon shakes his head so hard that his teeth ache, his throat stinging and stinging. "It wasn't them. Don't hurt them."

"Awfully quick to jump to defend them," says Daisy, voice hard. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"I-it was Elias," Jon says, voice shaking. "Gertrude and Leitner, both of them. He killed them. H-he's a monster, too."

"Yeah. Well, he’s on my list too," Daisy says harshly. She's got as much hatred in her voice for Elias as Jon has. (Pity they can't come together on this, Jon thinks hysterically.) "More visible of a monster than any of your friends, anyways. James is the only one I got any weird feelings from, and it wasn't as bad as you."

Jon thinks of Sasha trying to save Jurgen Leitner, of Martin and Tim calling Daisy _Scary Detective Tonner._ Tries not to think about them kneeling here in the dirt, too. 

Basira is saying something. Suggesting he _Ask_ Elias, make him tell whether or not he killed Leitner and Gertrude. Jon doesn't think it will work, but he says he'll try; if it gets him out of here, it seems worth it. Daisy promises to kill him if it doesn't work. Jon doesn't have a choice but to agree. 

He doesn't want to take Daisy back to the Institute, where the others might be, but he doesn't think he has a choice. He wants to text someone and warn them, tell them to stay out, but he hasn't had his phone in two months. He idly hopes that they'll have all taken time off, with everything with the Not-Them and Michael; lord knows they deserve it. 

Daisy's got the heater on in the car, but Jon can't stop shivering. His neck has stopped bleeding, but the smears of blood on his collar are still damp. Basira is sitting in the front; she doesn't look back when she picks a blanket up off the floor and hands it to him. He takes it. He doesn't know what else to do. 

\---

Sasha gives Tim and Martin the week off. "Or, I dunno, as long as you want to take," she says. "Just… you can _take_ it. Please. You both deserve it. I'm… I'm so sorry."

Martin says he might not take the whole week, but he'll definitely take a couple of days. He hugs them goodbye before he takes a cab home. Tim's stayed quiet the whole time, exhausted and leaning against the wall. Sasha grabbed his hand just after Jon disappeared into the tunnel, and he hasn't let go yet. She isn't sure if he wants to. 

They take the same cab home, although Sasha doesn't get out at Tim's. She wants to give him space, which she should've been giving him all along; she's been leaning so hard on him through all this, sleeping at his house half the time and pushing him away when he tries to kiss her, and letting him be taken by Michael… She needs to give him space. They're still holding hands, though, Tim leaning against the window of the cab with his eyes shut. They're still holding hands, and Sasha runs her finger along his callused knuckles, and she keeps thinking that she doesn't want to let go, even though she needs to. She thought she would never see him again. 

"I was thinking," Tim says suddenly, and Sasha sits up, pushing her glasses back and looking at him. "I was thinking," he says again. "So, we can't quit. But… but maybe we can get away. After we stop the end of the world, I mean. We could get away."

"What do you mean?" Sasha asks. 

"If we went somewhere far. Like, across the world. Maybe we could break our connection," he says. "It's… it's just a job, right? If we go far enough away, we wouldn't be working there anymore."

"Maybe," says Sasha, because she wants to believe it. She does. But she's got this weird sinking feeling in her stomach, like she somehow knows that isn't possible. The instinctual thought that it wouldn't work. "I… I don't know if it would work. It might not. But maybe it'd be worth a try."

Tim nods, jaw tightening. "I-I think I want to try it. When this is done," he says quietly. "And if it works… you, and Martin and Melanie, a-and even Jon… you could all get away, too. Maybe." 

"Maybe," Sasha says quietly, ignoring the pull inside her core that says _This is a waste of time_ and _You couldn't go, you couldn't leave, there's still so much to do._ She's not the Archivist, she's not Gertrude's successor, and she never will be. But sometimes she forgets that. Sometimes she does. She still hears Gertrude Robinson's voice saying, _Hopefully this means you, Sasha,_ in moments of doubt. And she wonders if she'll _ever_ be able to let this go, no matter how badly she wants to. 

She leans into Tim a little bit, just a little bit, and says again, "Tim, I'm so sorry."

"Sash, stop it, okay? It's _fine_. It is, I swear. You had no idea, it could've happened if you were there or not." He leans back into her, just a little, tips his head against hers without meeting her eyes. "I don't blame you," he says, and she can tell he does mean it. "And neither does Martin. It wasn't your fault."

"That wasn't what I meant," says Sasha, staring down at her feet, the scuffed boots she hasn't had off for two straight days now. "I mean, I _am_ sorry about that, and I don't think it wasn't my fault… but I meant… I'm sorry for the other night." 

"Oh." Tim grimaces a little, shakes his head. "Don't be sorry. I… I should be the one apologizing. I'm the one who keeps fucking this up."

"You haven't fucked _anything_ up," she says, a little desperately. She presses their palms together, squeezes his hand. "Tim…"

"No, it's not… it's okay. You were right, Sash, we're better as friends. That's… that's all I need." He takes a deep breath, squeezes her hand back and finally lets go. "You're my best friend, Sasha. That's all I need."

"Right." Sasha stares at the toes of her shoes. "That's all I need, too." 

Tim wraps his arms around her suddenly, his chin bumping against the back of her head, and she turns abruptly and embraces him back, her face in his hair. "I hope you can get out," she mumbles, hand in the back of his shirt, not caring about the driver hearing them at all. "I hope you can. I'd miss you so much if you did, but I want you to get away from here. You don't deserve to be trapped."

He inhales, shaky, hands tentative on her back. "Neither do you," he murmurs. 

The cab gets to his flat and he lets go, pulls back. She pats his wrist in a clumsy sort of way and says, "Take some time, okay?"

"I will," he says. "And you… you won't take any time, will you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe not."

He nods, solemn. "Be careful, then. Please."

She nods, too. "I will. I will."

Tim climbs out of the cab then, and Sasha doesn't watch him go. Makes herself look back down at her hands as she slides into the spot by the window he's just left, her head against the glass. She's so tired. She wants to figure this out, wants to save the world. But she also just wants this all to end, sometimes. Sometimes she really does want to run away, especially on days like this. 

She goes home and she goes to sleep and sleeps straight through the night, with no dreams. (No nightmares.) And then the next morning, she gets up and goes into work, because it feels like the thing to do, even if she's the only one there. She can try to keep things together, keep things steady. She can research the Unknowing all day, take some steps towards saving the world. 

Melanie actually comes in, too, about half an hour after she does. (With coffee, an honest-to-God lifesaver.) "I didn't think you'd come in," Sasha says with some surprise, taking her drink thankfully. "You could've taken time, too."

Melanie shrugs. "Might as well come in. I didn't get caught in a hell hall, remember?" She sits at her own desk, takes a swig of coffee. "Should we be concerned that Jon apparently didn't come home last night?"

"What?" Sasha says, surprised. "What happened?"

"Don't know. I was texting with Georgie and she asked if I'd seen him. Told her he was heading home, the last I'd heard. I thought maybe he was with one of you."

"Not with me. Don't think he's with Tim, either. Shit." Sasha chews at her lower lip, staring down at the files on the desk. "Maybe he's with Martin. Shit, I hope he's with Martin."

"Georgie was worried," says Melanie, sounding a little worried herself. "But I… I'm sure he's fine?" Her voice rises at the end in a question. 

The phone rings abruptly, startling them both. Sasha mutters a brief curse before picking it up. "Hello?"

"Sasha?" Rosie says on the other end, sounding slightly on edge. Suspicious, which still makes Sasha wince. She wishes she could do something to convince half her coworkers that she is not a murderer or a murder accomplice. "Mr. Bouchard would like to see all of you in his office."

"What about?" Sasha says, maybe a little sharply—which probably isn't going to help with her reputation with Rosie, but she can't help it. She has a lot of contempt for their asshole evil boss, and this whole ordeal hasn't helped. She and Jon spent a lot of time stewing on how Elias probably knew exactly what was happening to Tim and Martin and wasn't doing a thing about it, the same thing he'd done when Prentiss attacked. She's very much not in the mood for any of this, and she doubts Melanie is, either. 

"That's Mr. Bouchard's business. But he did mention that there were guests you'd likely want to see," says Rosie. 

Sasha blows air out of her mouth in frustration. "Okay. Okay, sure. Thank you, Rosie." Rosie clicks off on the other end and she sighs again, hanging up. "Our evil boss wants to see us for some ungodly reason," she says, irritably, to Melanie. 

"Oh, great," Melanie says, with at least equal contempt to Sasha. "What about?"

"Dunno. I'm not looking forward to it, though." She doesn't want to go at all, would rather sit downstairs and ignore the asshole out of spite, but the thing Rosie said about guests is sticking in her mind. Who the hell does Elias have up there? She stands, rummaging through her desk drawer and coming up with Martin's old corkscrew. Just in case. "You don't have to come. I'll cover for you."

"Sure. And let you go all by yourself? The bastard's been hiding in his office since I was hired," says Melanie, picking up a pocket knife from her desk and pushing it in her jacket pocket. (Sasha's glad to see they're on the same page about at least that.) "No, I'm definitely coming with. I want to see what he's plotting, anyways."

Sasha grins a little, unable to pretend she isn't at least a bit relieved at that. "Thanks," she says. "I'm not sure what the hell is going on, but Rosie said something about 'guests.'" 

"Nice and ominous," Melanie sighs, crossing her arms. "Let's go, then."

Heading up to Elias's office, Sasha's genuinely not sure what she expects to find. But she can genuinely say it probably wasn't what they _do_ find: Basira Hussain and Scary Detective Tonner, of all people, standing in front of Elias's desk. And Jon beside them, looking like he hasn't slept in a decade, mud caked on the knees of his pants. When he turns towards the opening door, as Melanie and Sasha enter, Sasha sees, suddenly, the dried blood on his neck and collarbone. " _Jesus_ ," Melanie says with surprise. 

Panic is rising in Sasha's throat as she tries to avoid looking at Tonner or Elias; she blurts, "Jon, are you all right? What the hell happened?"

Jon swallows, halfway nods without giving an answer. "Elias is… Elias is confessing to the police," he says, voice still hard under the clear layer of fear. "About Jurgen and Gertrude. I suppose he wanted you here for it."

"Oh," Sasha says, too dumbfounded to say much more, and too focused on the apparent bloody cut on Jon's neck, the fact that he and Daisy Tonner both are covered in mud. Thinking, _Well, they've found him,_ and, _I guess this is one way to carry out Martin's idea_ all at once. 

"Good?" Melanie offers, bumping her elbow against Sasha's. Sasha nods in confirmation, and finally makes herself look at Elias. He's not staring out at them with fear or anger; no, he just looks smug. He's sitting there smirking like this is the best day of his life. And sure, Sasha can let herself think they might have the upper hand on him, might can pull the rug out, but she knows how these things go. She has a sneaking suspicion this won't end well. 

"I was just saying to Jon," Elias is saying, then, and Sasha snaps back to attention, slides her hand in her pocket and curls it around the corkscrew. "It’s very important to me you understand that no action I have taken has been controlled. I have done everything because I wished to."

Sasha actually rolls her eyes, looking over at Jon, who looks slightly disgusted. "Get to the point," Daisy growls. 

Elias sighs. "Of course, Detective. So. For the avoidance of any doubt. I killed Gertrude Robinson because she intended to destroy the Archives. And I killed Jurgen Leitner because he was… an unnecessary complication. Likely to tell Jon too much, too early." 

Daisy is the only one who looks surprised. "So," Sasha says quietly, stepping closer to the desk. Lifting the corkscrew just a little. Hearing Gertrude's voice again: _If you’re listening to this, it means I’m dead._ She's suspected, they all have, for a long time now, but to hear it said out loud… "You _did_ kill her."

Elias looks more amused than anything. "Yes, I did. And I find it interesting, Sasha, that you hold her in such high regard. Her alliances and morals were much muddier than any of yours. I can only assume it's a result of pouting over the fact that you weren't chosen for the Head Archivist position. That you _weren't_ Gertrude's protege after all."

The corkscrew bites into Sasha's palm; she takes a shaky step back, like she's been slapped. Jon's hand brushes briefly over her arm, like an attempt at support; she's grateful, even if she doesn't look back. "Muddy or not," she says, hardening her voice even further, "she _was_ working against you. She was trying to bring you down. Destroy this place. That seems worthwhile to me." 

"Gertrude Robinson was one of the most self-centered Archivists I have ever chosen. She disposed of her assistants quite frequently, as well as others who happened to stand in the way of her goals. They were nothing but tools to her. Can you honestly say _you_ would do the same in the name of the greater good?" 

_I don't believe you,_ Sasha wants to say, but she doesn't; it sounds too silly, her tongue thick and heavy in her mouth, and for whatever the reason, she gets the sense that Elias isn't lying. She swallows hard and says nothing. 

"Right. That’s enough for me," Daisy Tonner says abruptly. "Even got it on tape." She motions to a recorder on Elias's desk, whirring away. Sasha hadn't even heard it; she wonders distantly why Elias would want this on tape. "Everyone get back," Daisy says, and then she's drawing a gun. 

Melanie makes a punched-out sound of surprise; Sasha takes a stumbling step back, grabbing Melanie's arm on instinct. "Daisy, wait," Basira says immediately, taking a step between her and Elias, who looks relatively unphased. (Sasha doesn't know Basira well, but she seems like the kind of level-headed person who could talk someone down from murder. The strange part is that she isn't even sure if she _wants_ Daisy to be talked down. Jon is a different story, and she's glad he's alive, but Elias… Well, maybe she's a horrible person for wanting him to die, but, well. He's a 200-year-old body hopper who has trapped them all here, murdered at least two people, and wants to end the world. She thinks she's justified in wanting him dead.) 

"Out the way," Daisy snaps, eyes still on Elias. 

"Now hang—hang on, I thought you were about to arrest him," says Melanie, voice cracked with confusion. 

Daisy ignores the question. "Get out the way!"

"Is this—is this, uh, really the place to do this?" Sasha asks, stumbling over her words. All she can think is another accusation of murder on their belt. Or is the corrupt cop standing behind the gun supposed to cover for them? Is she supposed to go along with that? She can't take another two months of this on-the-run stuff. Rosie will never talk to her again. Her eyes dart to Jon, and she tries, "Jon, should we—?"

Jon doesn't answer. And the next thing she knows, the buzzer is ringing. It's Rosie on the other end, announcing that police are apparently here. For a moment, Sasha thinks they've won—thinks how pleased Martin will be when they tell him that his plan worked. And then she sees the smirk on Elias's face, not going away, and she knows this just fits into his plan. They haven't won a thing at all. 

"There. That should make it even easier for you. Right, Detective?" Elias says to Daisy. "I know you were planning to kill me, but surely an arrest is a consolation prize?"

Daisy says nothing, breathing hard, hands trembling around the gun. Sasha looks between Melanie and Jon like one of them has the answers. "Daisy?" Basira presses. 

"Oh, didn’t she tell you why she hadn’t gone back to the station?" says Elias. "Allow me. She rightly suspected that I held evidence of various murders she had committed, and that I sent this to her superiors." Daisy's jaw works back and forth furiously. Sasha sucks in a quietly surprised breath; it isn't exactly a surprise, considering her whole aura, and the way the interviews went back in February—Martin said she threatened to pin the Leitner murder on him. But it is still hard to hear. She suddenly can't take her eyes away from the cut on Jon's neck, has to swallow back the realization that Tonner found Jon because _Sasha_ called him out of hiding. How many of her friends is she going to endanger? She feels absolutely sick at all this. 

Elias is still talking to Basira and Daisy. "... And while your superiors don’t much care about the killings, the fact there is proof… They’re not happy. And they want you brought in," he says, voice hard and damning. 

Daisy halfway laughs. "So I kill you, and go to jail. I’ll take that deal."

"For someone who used to be a detective, you’re remarkably reluctant to think things through," says Elias. "You think you’re the only police officer eager to do violence and call it justice? No, there are plenty of other rabid dogs out there, mad with the hunt. And some of them have signed a Section 31. There are plenty of others your superiors can call on to clean up this mess."

Sasha winces. "They wouldn't," Basira says in disbelief, and Daisy replies grimly, "Yeah, they would."

Elias says, "And anyone close enough to be implicated. They _will_ kill Basira."

Jon winces this time alongside Sasha. Melanie makes a grim face of understanding. It's becoming clear what's happening now; this is less about any of them than it is about Daisy and Basira. Elias wants to use them, somehow. Manipulate him. And this is his chance to do so. 

Daisy is apologizing to Basira. Sasha tears her eyes away from them to watch Elias. He's still looking too smug, and Sasha hates it. Wants to hit him, shout in his face. Wishes she had taken the chance and run away with Tim, wishes she was somewhere far away from here where she didn't have to worry about any of them. That they were all safe, Jon and Martin and Melanie and Tim. 

"Perhaps I was wrong when I called them," says Elias to Daisy. "Maybe it was a false alarm."

"What do you want?" Daisy snaps, gun wobbling in her hands.

"Collateral." Elias pulls a piece of paper out of his desk and slides it across the top of the desk. Sasha squints at the paper until it starts to look familiar: like the paperwork she and Tim filled out on their first day in the Archives, almost giddy and making faces at each other across their desks. Like the paper Elias wielded at Sasha after Melanie. 

" _No,_ " she says incredulously, just as Melanie blurts, "Fucking _again_?" Daisy herself is staring at the paper in confusion. 

"It's a contract of employment. For Basira," says Elias. 

Basira looks genuinely shocked. "Oh, no," Jon mutters, defeated. 

"Basira, don't do it," Sasha says immediately, stepping towards the desk. Basira doesn't look back. 

"It's a _trap_ , he's trying to trick you!" Melanie adds, pure fury in her voice, but that's not enough to stir Basira, either. She's still looking at Elias, who's smiling when he says, "Sign it, and I’ll send your ex-colleagues on their way."

Basira grabs a pen. "Don't do it," Sasha says, just as Jon says, "Basira, don't." Daisy begins, "Basira, I…" and never finishes. It doesn't matter. Basira signs on the line anyway, and says, "There," with a cold sort of inflection. 

"Oh, damn it," Jon mutters, defeat in his voice. Sasha shuts her eyes, presses a hand to her forehead. Another one trapped there with them. Another victim to Elias's tricks. And there's still nothing they can do about it. 

Elias buzzes Rosie and tells her to send the police away. Jon touches Basira's shoulder, maybe as a sign of comfort, or to get her attention, but Basira doesn't look back. She's staring at Daisy determinedly, staring at Elias with contempt. "So… what, you’re her boss now? Is that supposed to stop me?" Daisy says coldly, her finger hovering over the trigger. 

"Yes," Elias says. 

"Um, I mean, she’s still got a gun?" Melanie says, her arm tense under Sasha's hand. She's got the knife out and in her hand, hanging down by her side. "If he's got us all trapped, wouldn't killing him break it? Let us out?" 

That's admittedly what Sasha was thinking. She looks at Jon, questioningly, but the expression on his face is still grim. 

"Ah, of course. Er… sometimes I forget how new you all are to this," says Elias. "Basira is now tied to the Institute. All of you are. Like fingers on a hand. And I am the beating heart of it. Should I, or the Institute, be destroyed, you will all, unfortunately, follow suit." 

Jon draws in a sharp breath, eyes widening. "Wait, what?" Melanie says, voice rising with fear. 

"And it would not be a pleasant death." Elias's eyes are cold. A warning. 

Sasha's chest is tight, she can't breathe. Burning down the Archives. Joking about killing Elias. The kerosene she has in the tunnels. Martin, Melanie, Jon, Tim. Basira now, even. She could've killed them all trying to follow in Gertrude's fucking footsteps. They can't quit, they are trapped, and now they can _die_ , die if anything happens to Elias or this fucking place? Tim hates being trapped so much; this will kill him. Sasha presses a hand over her mouth, swaying in place. "You," she says faintly. Lifting the corkscrew. "You fucking _bastard_." 

Elias isn't listening to Sasha. Daisy must have threatened him, because he's saying to her now, "Just squeeze the trigger, and watch the only person you care about die screaming. Your last connection to humanity. Do it." And now Sasha is staring at Daisy through her cracked glasses lens, the crack slicing right through Daisy's face, the determination on her face and the gun in her hands, ready to call what she thinks is a bluff. Sasha is thinking about Tim and Martin, miles from here and unsuspecting, dying. She is thinking about Jon and Melanie and herself dying right here. Dying _screaming_. 

She can't breathe, and she stumbles a few steps forward, ready to wrestle the gun away from Daisy if she needs to. (She'll let herself get shot in the face to save the others, she will.) But Basira speaks first. Just says, "Daisy…" and trails off. 

And that is enough. Daisy puts the gun down. 

Sasha exhales shakily, stumbles back a step and drops the corkscrew and grabs onto Melanie's and Jon's hands without thinking. Melanie's fingers are trembling; Jon squeezes Sasha's hand. Daisy and Elias are forming some sort of deal Sasha can't listen to; at the moment, she hates them both. She looks down at her shoes and focuses on slowing her breathing, and she knows she will call Tim as soon as she gets out of here.

Six desks in the Archives. Five Archival Assistants. All of them trapped together. Elias keeps throwing kindling on the fire, and Sasha doesn't think she can take it anymore. Especially now that she knows what's at stake. What will happen if they push too hard.

\---

"Not to point out the obvious," says Tim, voice thick with bitterness and gallows humor all at once, "but isn't _five_ assistants a _bit_ overkill? I mean, I've been saying forever that we're overworked, but this is _ridiculous_."

They're all in Sasha's living room, in a sort of unofficial gathering. Sasha and Melanie and Jon had wanted to talk things over, after, and none of them had wanted to do it in the tunnels. Sasha had called Tim and Martin on the cab ride over, wanting to let them know more than anything, but they'd both insisted on coming there—partially to get caught up, and partially because of Jon almost dying again, or at least that's Melanie's guess. 

So the five of them are strewn all over Sasha's sitting room, panicked and tired and angry in different sorts. Basira had nearly come, too, or at least Jon had invited her in a sheepish, apologetic sort of way—a surprise to Melanie, honestly, who doesn't know much about Basira other than the fact that she used to be a cop, she brought Jon and the others tapes, and she showed up with Scary Daisy and Jon, who looked half dead. But she must not be too bad if Jon's inviting her to these meeting things. Either that, or Jon is a masochist. Melanie isn't sure. 

Sasha and Jon had tried to explain things to Basira briefly before they left, but none of it seemed to register. Basira seemed distracted and dismissive, more worried about sorting things out with Daisy. Melanie supposes that the whole Elias-is-really-200-years-old thing is sort of a head trip. 

Melanie's head is still spinning. Too much to process quickly. She hasn't offered much in the way of advice during this; she's mostly just been sitting and trying to listen. Tim and Martin mostly look like they have been hit by a truck, with the supposed revelation that they can't kill Elias or commit arson without dying painfully. Melanie felt that way, too, at first. Now she's not sure what to think. It all feels so convenient, that Elias has something like this to hold over their heads. To the point where it doesn't even feel real. 

"I think," Sasha says with a sigh, "that's sort of the point, Tim." 

"What, uh," Martin says faintly, "what—what do we _do_?" He looks between all of them, searching for answers none of them have. Melanie sighs and leans into the back of the couch. "I mean… do we have any proof that he's telling the truth?" he tries. 

"Could be bluffing," Melanie mutters. "So Tonner wouldn't shoot him in the head." Makes sense that someone who's been around for two centuries _wouldn't_ want to bite it via bullet in the head, right?

"But if he's _not_ bluffing," Sasha says quietly, staring down at the floor. She's still got ahold of the corkscrew she brought to Elias's office; she hasn't put it down. "I don't… I don't want to risk it if he isn't bluffing." 

"I'm not sure we can do _anything_ ," says Jon, voice nearly pained. "If we can't take action against Elias or cause any damage to the Archives without potentially harming ourselves… how can we make _any_ definitive moves against Elias?"

"So we're just supposed to do what he wants," Tim says angrily. "Sit down and be good little hostages? Accept that we're trapped? Not even try to get out?" Melanie's jaw tightens at Tim's words; she feels a sudden pain in her palm and looks down to see her left hand tightened into a fist, her fingernails digging too hard into her skin. 

"I wouldn't say that," Sasha says, shaking her head. "I mean, I'm certainly not just going to follow Elias's orders blindly. And I definitely don't plan on forgetting everything he's done to us. Surely we can… I dunno, keep covertly plotting against him or something."

"I'm not sure that there's any such thing as covert where Elias is involved," Jon says. 

"Well, then, un-covertly plot against him. I don't know."

"Isn't that sort of what we were doing before? With plotting against Elias? I mean, no one really threw out killing him before. Except Tim, sort of," says Martin. Tim offers a tired sort of finger gun. "Although, I guess the getting him arrested plot went kaput," Martin adds sheepishly. "That plan did _not_ work _._ "

"Right now, I'd say our primary focus should be stopping the Unknowing," Jon says quietly. Almost in a defeated tone. He doesn't sound like much of a leader to Melanie—and maybe he isn't trying to be. But still. People are looking at him like he's supposed to have the solutions. "Not that I think we should ignore this, it's certainly a pressing issue, but… I'm just not sure what we can do about it right now. And the Unknowing seems like it's much more time sensitive."

Everyone seems to agree with that one, even Tim. He looks almost _relieved_ at the suggestion; that's when Melanie remembers the whole speech she got that first night, the way Tim mentioned his brother. Maybe stopping evil clowns from ending the world is something they can all get behind. "Makes sense to me," Martin says. "That's sort of working against Elias, too, isn't it? If he wants to end the world—based on what Gertrude said, I mean—and the Unknowing is all about ending the world…"

"We haven't found much on it," Tim tells Jon. "There doesn't seem to be much information out there. Helpful, huh? Do you know anything?"

Jon sighs. "Probably not much more than you. There was something, although it isn't much… Elias sent me some statements while I was hiding out at Georgie's. Lord knows why, but I looked into them a bit. Recorded and such… I have the tapes if anyone wants to review them. Or Georgie does, at least. I listened to one tape by Gertrude that was recorded in 2015, and she believed the Unknowing would be performed soon. There was one potential lead I didn't follow, someone named Jude Perry who was associated with the Lightless Flame. I… I considered following it. But I thought it might be a bad idea. If the statement was from Elias—which he told me it was—and we're supposed to avoid doing what Elias wants…"

"That makes sense," says Sasha quickly. "Elias could've been sending you into danger. This person might not even be associated with the Unknowing in the first place. I think we can go without Elias's breadcrumbs." Tim looks like he might not agree, but he doesn't say anything—just presses a hand over his mouth and sinks down in his seat. Sasha seems to notice and adds, "We can look and see what the Archives has on her at least. But meeting her in person could probably stay a last resort." Tim nods without saying anything. 

"So… we're just going to keep researching this stuff?" Melanie offers, bumping one foot against a leg of Sasha's coffee table. "What about Basira? She gonna be in on all this?"

"Basira… Basira can do what she wants," says Jon. "I'm not… this isn't her fight. I'm not going to force her to do anything she doesn't want to do." 

It sounds too much like what Sasha said when Melanie was trapped. Melanie flinches and tries to hide it, letting her head fall forward. "Can we trust Basira?" Martin asks gingerly. "I mean, if she's working with Daisy…"

"Basira's essentially a hostage, so I doubt she'd move against Elias. But I'm not sure why she'd work against any of us," Sasha says. "Unless… I dunno, unless it got _her_ in good with Elias. Her main loyalty seems to be to Daisy."

"I trust Basira," Jon says, a little firmly. "I mean… she saved my life." He's rubbing an absent hand over the cut on his neck; it's covered with a bandage from Sasha's medicine cabinet, and most of the old blood is gone, but the wound is still glaringly there. Beside Melanie, Martin noticeably winces. "I don't think she'd betray us. I'd even guess that she might help us, but it's hard to know for sure. When she brought me Gertrude's tapes, she said she was done with this."

"Can't blame her," says Tim tiredly. "I'd like to be done with this, too." Melanie nods a bit. 

Sasha seems to be considering something, chewing on one thumbnail. "Jon? What did Elias say after we all left?"

Elias had shooed them all out of the room at the end so he could "talk to Jon alone." Somehow they never really discussed what was said. Jon looks uncomfortable, now, at the subject being brought up. "He didn't say much. Mostly… mostly he said I was doing well." 

Sasha's face twists in astonishment. Melanie stares down at her hands, at the ragged tips of her chewed-on nails. "T-that's, uh," Martin stammers. "That's not good, is it?" 

"No, Martin, likely it isn't. I… I really don't know _what_ to make of it." Jon sighs, pressing one hand to his face. "And I have no idea what we're supposed to be doing."

No one speaks for a long moment. When Sasha finally speaks, she sounds as uncertain and as fearful as any of them. "Well—we'll figure it out. We will." 

Melanie trusts Sasha. She does. And she genuinely wishes she believed that. But a part of her just can't. 

Melanie leaves first—she's tired, and genuinely wishing she'd taken up Sasha's offer to stay out for a couple days. When Sasha says goodbye at the door, she repeats the offer, pitching her voice up so the others hear it when she says, "We should _all_ take some time." Jon offers his quiet agreement, although Melanie isn't exactly waiting for it; he may be the Head Archivist, but it's hard to view him as any sort of boss with Sasha having taken charge the entire few weeks she's worked there. "What about Basira?" she asks Sasha quietly. "Doesn't she start tomorrow?"

Sasha looks almost worried, pushing hair behind her ears in a nervous sort of way. "I'll… I'll figure that out," she says quietly. "Don't worry about it." 

So Melanie goes home, intending to stay there for a couple days, at least. In the cab, she pulls out her pocket knife and turns it over and over in her hands. It was her dad's; he gave it to her six months before he died. Maybe because he forgot that it was _his knife,_ but Melanie likes to think he wanted her to have it. She can remember him whittling with this knife when she was a little girl, sculpting shapes out of rough sticks and pieces of driftwood, and she would always beg to have a turn whittling, and he would laugh and kiss her forehead and say, "When you're older, little moth. I promise." She was older when he pressed it into her hands and told her it was hers now. She's been carrying it around for over five years now, like a luck charm; had it on all her shoots, reached for it in her pocket when things went bad. But she hasn't whittled a thing with it. 

She runs her fingers over the initials carved in the handle. Standing in Elias's office while he lied about how he had them trapped, all she could think about was putting this knife through his eye. 

Melanie shuts her eyes, closes her fingers around the knife and pushes it back in her pocket. She won't use it for that. Not this. There are other ways to get this done, other means to an end, but she won't use her father's knife for this. It deserves better than Elias. She should have learned to whittle. 

She ends up on her couch, watching bad TV for half the night. She falls asleep and wakes up hours later to Georgie calling, her voice pinched with concern on the other end. Jon's sort of filled her in, apparently, and Melanie fills in the rest. Georgie's voice grows stiffer and stiffer as they talk. Melanie leans her head against the wall, eyes shut. The sound of Georgie's voice is strangely comforting, even when she sounds pissed off—it's nice to know someone is pissed off on her behalf. She's missed Georgie, lately; it seems like they've been spending less and less time together. 

"They say there's nothing we can do, for now," she says into the phone, wrapping an arm around her knees. 

"So, what, you're all just going to sit there? Just let this happen to you?" Georgie says, almost angrily. "I mean, I understand wanting to stay safe, as assuming your boss isn't bluffing, but doing nothing…"

"I'm _not_ going to do nothing," says Melanie, a new heat in her voice. She lets her head fall against her knees and shuts her eyes, holds onto the phone tight in her hand. Thinks of running through the tunnels, Sasha nearly in tears when Tim and Martin were gone, the bloodstains that haven't completely come out of the floorboards, the look on Basira Hussain's face when she realized she was trapped. Thinks of the smug fucking look on Bouchard's—or Magnus's—face when he tricked her into trapping herself there. "I'm going to figure this all out. I'm going to get out of here."

\---

Martin goes back to work a few days after the whole ordeal with the tunnels and Michael and Elias trapping Basira. He should probably stay out longer—Sasha sends several texts recommending he stay out longer—but it feels very wrong to be sitting at home with all this chaos going on. With the revelation that they're now trapped on pain of death, and the new hostage coworker they've acquired, and Jon coming officially unofficially back now that his name is apparently cleared for murder… Martin just feels like it's better to go in rather than stay at home. 

Tim's still out, and Melanie apparently took a couple days, too, but according to her, Sasha never left at all. Despite having gone through most of the same bullshit as the rest of them, she's stayed the entire time. "To help Basira settle in," she tells Martin by way of explanation. Basira's setting up camp at a brand new desk surrounded by towering boxes (Martin's starting to wonder if Elias has a stash of empty desks just for hostages he wants to stick in the Archives). Apparently she's mostly stayed quiet these past couple days, is entrenched in a great stack of books from the library. It seems to Martin like she's adjusted surprisingly well, considering both the fact that she is trapped, and the method of how she was trapped. She seems to get along all right with Sasha and Melanie. 

Sasha looks exhausted, although she shows no sign of stopping. She's cut her hair short, nearly to her chin and almost jagged at the ends—"An impulse," she explains when she sees Martin looking—and she's got massive circles under her eyes. Looks like she could fall asleep standing up. Martin tries telling her that _she_ should take some time off, and she refuses. "Not while things are still so chaotic," she says. "And we still have the Unknowing to worry about." 

Jon… Jon took a day or so at Sasha's insistence, apparently, but he is back now, setting up shop in his old office. A lot of Sasha's things are still in there; apparently he told her not to worry about moving it. When Martin ducks in to say hello, he’s rummaging through boxes of old statements, skimming over them and piling them in random orders, it seems. He looks nearly as bad as Sasha in terms of exhaustion, and the bandage on his neck isn’t helping things. (It honestly does make Martin a little sick to see that bandage, knowing it came from Daisy Tonner. He’d been so worried about Daisy finding him here, and then as soon as he’d stopped worrying about it, it had happened. He should've _known_ better. He should've made sure Jon had gotten home safe.)

"Oh," Jon says when Martin opens the door and pokes his head in. "Hello, Martin. I… you're back now?"

"Yeah," Martin says, a bit awkwardly, taking this as an invitation to come in. He takes a few steps towards the desk. "Uh, yeah. Didn't feel right to stay away with things so… I felt like I should come back." 

"Well, it's… it's good to see you, Martin," says Jon. And maybe Martin's reading into things, but it sounds like he actually means it. 

"You, too," says Martin, immediately regretting it. (He calls himself a goddamn poet and he can't come up with anything better than _You too?_ ) "How's, uh, how's your neck healing up?"

"Oh, it's… fine." Jon presses an absent hand over the bandage, his eyes back on the files. "I've been going through looking for mentions of Jude Perry, seeing how connected she is to the Unknowing. She doesn't seem very Stranger-aligned at all, so I don't think we should waste our time with her. Especially if that's what Elias wants."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I don't think we should… seek her out or anything like that. Not if that's what Elias wants," says Martin. He's still standing awkwardly next to Jon's desk, unsure if he should sit or not. 

"I've gone through a couple of more useful statements… the one that stands out the most is one about the delivery men. Breekon and Hope. They seem to be Stranger aligned, so they might be connected to the Unknowing. I'm not sure. Sasha's digging to see what other statements they appear in that we haven't read, I think."

"Oh! Uh, well that makes sense, doesn't it? I got some, uh, Stranger-y vibes from them, I think." Martin clears his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, they haven't appeared in any of the statements I've read through, but I'll keep an eye out."

"Right," Jon says, a sudden shift in his voice, and then he's looking back up at Martin. "Uh, Sasha mentioned… she said that you both were reading and recording statements when I was gone. That you split the task."

"Oh… uh, yeah." Martin feels his neck growing a bit hot with embarrassment; it had seemed like a good idea when Sasha brought it up, and he hadn't wanted to put all the work on her (or make Tim do it). But he'd worried at times that Jon might get… jealous or something, he doesn't know. "She, uh… we thought we might be able to find something useful. Something about the Unknowing…"

"Right. Right. I-I-I mean, they’re not… They haven’t…" Jon takes a breath and adds uncertainly, "You’ve been okay?"

Surprised, Martin says, "... Yeah. I mean, i-it wasn’t fun, but… I mean, if it—if it helps then I—" He shrugs a bit. 

"Okay," Jon says. "If you’re sure, just… Make sure the others help you, all right? Sasha said something similar, but I don't… Statements can be… If you’re not used to them it can… be a bit weird. I don't want either of you to be overwhelmed."

"Er… sure," Martin says, a little awkwardly. 

Jon looks back down at his desk. Martin offers, still awkward and stilted, "Has, uh… has Daisy been around much since… y'know, everything?" He wasn't in Elias's office that day, so he doesn't know for sure, but based on what Sasha and Melanie have said, it sounds like she might be around some from now on. 

Jon grimaces a little, pulling absently at the side of his bandage. "Fortu—uh, no. No, but Elias mentioned a bit of business he wanted Daisy to go out on. That he wants me to go along for."

Pushing back mounting, habitual nervousness (Martin hates how habitual it feels now to be nervous, how every week there's some new crisis, it feels like), he says, "E-Elias wants you to go? That doesn't…" 

"I know, I know. But it… it sounds like it might be pertinent to the Unknowing, actually. He wants us to go to a taxidermy shop I remember from other statements. The Trophy Room… He wants us to talk to Sarah Baldwin, for some reason. He didn't say why. But as far as I can see, both factors there are associated with the Unknowing," says Jon. "So… it seems worth the risk to go. If there might be important information."

Martin runs at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Are… are you sure it's _safe,_ though? Daisy did just try to kill you."

"I… I guess so. I don't know. I don't… Sasha offered to go along. She investigated the Trophy Room last year, and she thinks having someone else from the Archives along is a good idea. I don't… _love_ the idea, but safety in numbers, right?"

"Uh, sure." Martin scoffs the toe of his shoe against the corner of Jon's desk, looks at the ground. He trusts Sasha and he trusts Jon and he thinks they'd make a good team—but he _doesn't_ trust Daisy. And it seems to him that she'd have just as much capability of killing two people as much as one. "Just… be careful if you do go, all right? This might be another Jude Perry. Potential information isn't a reason to put yourself in danger."

"We'll be fine," says Jon quietly. He looks up again then, his expression unreadable. (Martin wonders absently how he's ever going to be a good poet if he can never read people's expressions.) "I… thank you, Martin."

Martin swallows, says, "You're welcome." He's not sure what else to say. 

He spends the rest of the day digging through statements, trying to sort quickly through them, mainly focusing on the ones that could be associated with the Circus. He sets the others aside for later recording, not intending to forget them, trying to group the ones that sound similar, but he tries not to linger. They still don't know when the Unknowing is, and it seems much more important than anything else. (Melanie helps, although she keeps getting caught up on those war statements, spending too much time reading those. Martin doesn't say anything to her about it.) Sasha's in and out of Jon's office all day, and Basira spends all day reading. Martin tries to talk to her at lunch, asks how she's settling in. She says some stuff about making the best of the situation, which seems bizarre to Martin, but he supposes there's no other way out. Guesses it's good that Basira is on board with that so quickly. 

He talks to Basira again at the end of the day, takes her down to "show her the tunnels" and explains the whole Elias-can't-see-here bit. Partially to get her up to date, but mostly because he's been turning the same idea over and over again in his head all day, and he'd like to discuss it with someone who might actually know what they're talking about. (He's still not entirely sure he trusts Basira, but, well. She used to be police. Maybe she still has connections.) It's the same idea that's been in his head for months, that he brought up after Prentiss: to expose Elias for murdering Gertrude and Leitner, and try and get him arrested. 

"Huh," Basira says thoughtfully. "You've been thinking about this for a while? Hey, is that why Tim and Sasha kept mentioning Elias the first time I came in to give a statement?"

"Uh, yeah," Martin says, a little embarrassed. "We… hoped you'd figure out it was him."

Basira snorts a little. "Yeah, well, I did. Too late, I suppose." She crosses her arms, leans back a bit in her chair. "Obviously Daisy and I can't get anywhere with that. And I'm not sure anyone will just take your word for it, especially with the Section 31 thing. You'd need proof. Too bad the only confession we have is one we can't turn in."

"Right. We, uh, we always figured we needed proof, but we weren't sure what there was," Martin says sheepishly. 

"Too bad there aren't any tapes of the murders," Basira says, flipping through one of her books. "Always seems to be a tape running here one way or another."

Martin remembers something suddenly, about the night that Leitner died. "When we met Leitner," he says out loud, "Jon recorded some of it. Bits and pieces. I think he left it down in the office. I… I wonder if he ever turned it off." He shuffles through his brain for memories of that night, trying to remember if he ever saw a tape recorder, but when he thinks it over, all he can remember is blood. Blood on Sasha's and Jon's hands, blood pooling on the floor. Leitner's broken body. He bites back a shudder.

Basira sighs a bit. "If there was one, I'll bet you anything Elias has it. Or it's destroyed. He strikes me as a man who covers his tracks."

Of course he would. Martin sighs, too, and thanks Basira for the advice. Maybe Elias has it hidden away somewhere—probably locked in the same damn drawer as the files Leitner wanted to get that night. Maybe they should stage some sort of a break in or something. 

Sasha and Jon do end up going with Daisy to talk to Sarah Baldwin, who Martin eventually connects back to the Old Fishmarket Close statement. Also apparently the same one from Melanie's first statement. He and Melanie are both working late the night they do it—Martin's not sure why Melanie stays late, but he notices she closes whatever she has up on her computer fast when Sasha and Jon come in, looking rumpled and tired. "Is Basira here?" Sasha asks, and when Melanie and Martin shake their heads, she sighs, falling into her chair. "I don't really mind Basira, but I still do not like Daisy. Scary Detective Tonner. Whatever her name is."

"What happened?" Martin asks. 

"What the hell is the deal with Sarah Baldwin?" Melanie puts in. (Oh, Martin thinks, that's probably why Melanie stayed late—she wanted answers. She had a run in with Sarah Baldwin too.)

"Apparently," Sasha says, pushing choppy hair out of her eyes, "she is made out of sawdust. Thought you'd want to know."

Melanie blinks. "What the fuck," she says, with a sort of finalty. 

Jon sighs, too, sitting at Tim's desk. "She's definitely Stranger aligned—said she was trespassing at Cambridge Hospital. I think it's safe to say whatever is there _isn't_ the Stranger."

"Something else, then," Melanie says, drawing one knee up to her chest. "Sure."

"What else did you find out?" Martin asks, pushing some statements aside. "Anything useful?"

"Apparently the skin I sent Sasha to investigate last year—" 

"World's oldest gorilla skin," Sasha says. 

"Yes, that one. Apparently it's important to the Unknowing. And apparently… apparently Gertrude had it," says Jon. "Has it here somewhere. I don't know. I… I have no idea where it would be."

"I think she might've destroyed it," Sasha says. "Burning down the Archives and all… it sounds like her M.O. I don't think she'd leave something like that lying around."

"What if she didn't, though?" Jon says, pressing his fingers to his forehead. 

"We should find it, then," Martin says. "In… in case she didn't destroy it. So we can."

"That was my thinking as well," says Jon. "We'll just have to figure out where she hid it."

Melanie snorts. "That sounds easy. Wasn't Gertrude super vague and mysterious? Didn't you only find her tape on accident?"

"That was because she was good at hiding things. Which was fortunate for us in the long run, as far as I can tell. If Elias had found the tape…" Jon trails off then, doesn't finish. Martin can imagine well enough on his own. He never thinks they're doing very well, but he supposes it could be much, much worse. If they didn't have the tape… who knows what would have happened?

"Maybe it's here in the Archives," says Sasha. "Or in the tunnels somewhere. I can start looking for it. Considering her laptop, and the tape, I'll bet she has some other… hidey holes around the office."

"We can all look," Martin says, unable to not notice the way Sasha keeps yawning, or the circles under her eyes. "You're taking too much on. _Both_ of you are."

Melanie jabs a finger at Martin. "Yes. That. Listen to that, James. Between you and Jon, this office is going to need a counselor for overworking."

Jon laughs a little, rubs a hand over his mouth. "I think Georgie could fit the bill. She's very persuasive."

"Yep. You should _listen_ to her more often," says Melanie.

"Okay, sure, we can split the search. I think… I think Tim is coming back soon, so the workload will probably go down a bit." Sasha's voice goes quiet when she brings up Tim, and sudden guilt rolls through Martin when he realizes he hasn't actually talked to Tim since their post Elias-wreaking-havoc meeting. Hasn't checked in at all. He wonders if Tim is all right; out of everyone, Tim has stayed out the longest. 

“Right. Not like the Archives isn’t over employment capacity anyways,” Melanie says, joking in her voice. “It’ll be nice to have Tim back, though.”

"Yeah," Sasha says quietly. "It will be." She sits up a little straighter, looks over at Jon. "Actually, we should probably update him on this, he'd want to know… do you want to…"

"No, uh… you should probably do it," Jon says, too quickly. They're all quiet for a moment before he adds, sheepishly, "I doubt he wants to talk to me. We, er… didn't leave things on the best of terms."

"Sounds like you _should_ talk to him, at least to me," Sasha says. "But… yeah, I'll give him a call." She picks up her phone and goes out into the hallway. 

Melanie picks up her own phone to check it. At Tim's desk, Jon fidgets, staring awkwardly down at the desk top. "You should, you know," Martin says quietly. "Talk to him." Maybe he is too focused on everything being all right and happy—considering the past few weeks, he isn't sure anything will ever be all right again—but he still has hope. Still wants everything to be all right between everyone. For a while there—before Prentiss and Michael and Leitner and the table and Daisy and all of it—they were a team. They were friends. 

Jon gets an odd look on his face, and for a second, Martin thinks he's going to say something like, _Shut up, Martin._ But what he actually says is, "I… yes. I should. Thank you, Martin."

Martin nods and looks away, at the paraphanalia over Tim's desk. There's no pictures, not anymore, but there's a receipt for the pub that they all like tacked to the top. Based on the date, Martin thinks it's a night they all went out together, for once. 

He looks down at his desk, trying not to be overwhelmed and romanticized by memories of when things seemed a little better and they all spent time together. Tries not to think about how things might be better when this is all over. If the world doesn't end. 

\---

Jon goes to Sasha's after Nikola shows up at Georgie's flat, on an impulse more than anything. He doesn't want to be in the flat anymore. He almost goes to the Institute, but he realizes that probably no one will be there, not even Sasha, and he'd like to give them a head's up about this. And Sasha should maybe know more than all of them, aside from Daisy—she was there when he found out about the skin in the first place. So he packs the Admiral in his cat carrier (the Admiral growls the whole time, pawing at the door—he irrevocably associates the carrier with a trip to the vet's), texts Georgie suggesting she stay over at Melanie's (he knows they're out for drinks), and takes a cab over to Sasha's. 

Sasha looks a little shocked when she opens the door, although not entirely unwelcoming. "Jon," she says, stepping back from the door. "Hi, uh, come in. Is… is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry to intrude, Sasha, but I felt like this shouldn't wait…" Jon halfway blurts, stepping into the foyer. 

"Is that a _cat?_ " 

Jon turns and finds Tim, sprawled out on one of Sasha's couches, mug in hand. There's a movie frozen on the TV, and snacks spread out on the table, and it takes a moment for Jon to realize that he's obviously interrupted some sort of movie night. Tim's staring at him with an expression somewhere between irritation and curiosity, and Jon's realizing then that he hasn't had a conversation with Tim (aside from frantic and confusing meetings with a lot of people) since before Leitner died. 

"Ah—yes," Jon says. "This is the Admiral." The Admiral yowls irritably, pawing at the door to the crate. 

"Here, let him out," Sasha says, taking the crate and setting it down. "Just don't tell my landlord. I'm not allowed pets."

"Right," Jon says. The Admiral staunchly ignores Jon as he exits the cage, going to Sasha and pressing against her legs. Jon supposes he deserves that; between Nikola and the carrier, the Admiral is properly spooked. He's going to get an earful from Georgie when she catches wind of what's happened. 

"What the hell's going on?" Tim asks. "Where'd you get a cat?"

"The cat is Georgie's. I—didn't want to leave him in the flat by himself." Jon's still not sure exactly how to talk to Tim, after everything. He isn't sure if Tim is still mad at him—although he certainly has every right to be. 

"What happened?" Sasha asks, going back to sit on the couch next to Tim. "You seem pretty freaked out. Are you okay? Is Georgie?"

So Jon sits on the other couch and fills them both in. About Nikola and the skin and the Unknowing and all the lights in Georgie's place. By the end of it, Tim has both hands pressed over his mouth, like he's going to be sick. "That's—fuck, that's…" He trails off mid-sentence, speaks again shakily. "It's always skin. It's _always_ fucking skin." 

"Damn it," says Sasha faintly. The Admiral has climbed up in her lap and she's petting him rhythmically. "Sarah Baldwin must have… damn it. And they want you to find it?"

"Yes," Jon says. "I… think she threatened me for it. She said I had until she changed her mind, or something like that."

"But you're not going to do it," Tim says, sounding faintly strangled. "Right? You're not going to do it?"

The reaction does take Jon aback; he had no idea the Unknowing was affecting Tim this badly. "No, no, of course I'm not going to _do_ it. I wouldn't even know where the skin is. And giving it to them would probably defeat the purpose of trying to stop the Unknowing in the first place." 

"We can't just let her threaten you, though. Especially not if they know where you live… Did she say how long you had before she… changed her mind?" Sasha says. 

"No. No, nothing like that." Jon swallows roughly. "I thought you should know. I mean… you were there when we talked to Sarah Baldwin, too. They could bother you about this just as much as me." 

Sasha grimaces a little. "Well. It wouldn't be the first time I've been threatened by the Stranger this month." Tim winces, visibly, and reaches out like he’s going to take her hand before drawing it back. 

“I don’t… I don’t want it to come to that,” Jon says, raspily. “I’ll… I’ll sort it out. I just thought you should know.”

In his pocket, his phone chimes, several insistent times in succession. Jon pulls it out and winces at the incoming messages from Georgie. “Damn it. Georgie is going back home. I should… I should get back, really. It’s probably not safe there right now, and… I did steal her cat.” The Admiral makes a sound of contentment on Sasha’s lap. “I don’t… I hate doing this to her. Putting her in danger… I told her to stay at Melanie’s. I should’ve known that wouldn’t be enough to dissuade her from coming back.” He rubs a hand over his mouth, tiredly, says quieter, "I should move out, really. I've… been looking for a place, I just…" He can't finish the sentence. Can't admit that he's stayed and out Georgie and the Admiral in danger for so long because he's fucking _lonely_. 

“You could stay here for a while,” Sasha says suddenly. When Jon looks over at her in surprise, she just shrugs. “I mean, if you’re worried about Georgie not being safe… I’m pretty embroiled in all this anyway. And I don’t have a spare room, but these couches aren’t bad. They’re better than Tim’s. Right?”

“I wouldn’t know, Sash. I’ve never slept on my own couch,” says Tim, a forced sort of lightness in his voice. “She insists they’re better,” he adds. “She does. Says there’s absolutely a difference.”

"Sasha, I can't impose on you like that," says Jon immediately. "It's… it's too dangerous, and an inconvenience…"

"It really wouldn't be. And it doesn't have to be forever; I can help you look for a place." Sasha shrugs. "And I really do think the danger ship has sailed, Jon. I'm in this, one way or another. If we can keep Georgie out of it…"

Jon remembers that moment in the mud, in the woods, with the knife to his throat, when he'd thought about what would've happened if Daisy had found him at Georgie's. He winces. "Yes. You're right. Thank you, Sasha. I… I'll think on it some, if that's all right. There might be a better solution."

"Sure, that's fine. Just… the offer stands, all right? We're in this together." Sasha offers a small smile, looks between Jon and Tim. Tim's looking down at the Admiral, holding his fingers up loosely and letting the Admiral bat at them. His shoulders are locked tensely in place, like he is upset about something. Jon isn't sure what to say; he never knows what to say to Tim, anymore. 

"Well," he says, looking back down at his phone. "I should probably get back and… explain things to Georgie. Replace the light bulbs and… all that."

"She could come here, if she wants. Talk things out," Sasha offers. 

"No, no, I should… face the music. It is still her home." Jon stands, scooping up the cat carrier; his eyes land on the frozen movie, and he feels a sudden wave of guilt. "I'm sorry for interrupting your night," he adds quickly. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's fine, Jon, really," Sasha says. "This is what… we want to know about these things. We're a team, right?"

Jon glances at Tim, who is still playing with the cat. "Right," he says quietly. He reluctantly scoops the Admiral up—the cat goes limp in his arms, angry, of course—and deposits him back in the carrier. "Well… I'll be going. But please let me know if anything… happens. Or anything like that."

Sasha nods. Tim doesn't say anything. Jon heads for the door, throwing an awkward, "... Have a good night," over his shoulder. Sasha says, "You, too." 

Tim doesn't say anything until he's nearly out the door. He says, "Stay safe, boss," and there's just enough unclear, tangled-up emotion in that sentence so that Jon can't tell if he means it. 

Well. Jon knows that _he_ means it when he says, "You as well," just before he closes the door behind him. 

\---

Jon doesn't see Nikola for another week and a half. Georgie's strangely understanding about the whole thing. Well, she's not happy that he grabbed her cat and ran, but she's understanding. She says he doesn't have to move out, at least not right away. Jon doesn't even mention going to Sasha's. But the idea keeps rolling around in his head, stays stuck when he jolts awake at two a.m. from a nightmare, fumbling for the lamp—what if Georgie had been here? What if Nikola had done something to her or the Admiral? What if it had been _Daisy_ that had found her? If anything happened to either of them… Jon doesn't want to leave. He likes living with Georgie, likes having somebody around. But he doesn't think he could bear it if anything happened to her. The idea stays in the back of his mind, even if he's too much of a coward to do anything about it. And Sasha doesn't bring it up again, even though it's obvious that the offer still stands. 

Things are slow at work, mannequin home invasion notwithstanding. Everyone stays focused on the Unknowing, especially Tim. Someone starts up a trend of getting drinks in the middle of the day, since they can't get fired. Jon and Sasha sort of discuss the possibility of looking for the skin, the way they'd meant to after Sarah Baldwin, but the visit from Nikola has practically made the decision for everyone else, especially Tim and Basira: no point in looking. Gertrude probably destroyed it, anyway, and even if she didn't, it's not like they're going to hand the Stranger something that will end the world. Martin seems a bit concerned, but that's about as far as it goes. It's not the strangest threat they've faced in the past few weeks. 

Things are so slow, it almost starts to scare Jon—when the most eventful thing that happens to you the week after a home invasion and threat is walking in on Melanie King cleaning coffee out of the sink (with a jittery look in her eyes when she shouts at you to get out), Jon thinks it's reasonable to be on edge. Things are even pretty normal with Georgie, aside from having to get the lights changed, and the Admiral sulking for a few days before he will come near Jon again. It doesn't help the guilt, the pervading feeling that he needs to get out or Georgie will be in trouble; Jon can barely sleep through the fear. He keeps nearly texting Sasha to take her up on her offer, and then drawing back before he can. He doesn't want to put her in danger, too. He doesn't want to put _anyone_ in danger. He just wants everyone to be all right. 

Finally, Jon breaks down. Catches Sasha at work and asks if she still minds him sleeping on her couch. (A downgrade from the guest room, but oh well. As long as Georgie and the Admiral are safe.)

Georgie seems perplexed by his decision, but she doesn't try to stop him. "You're a grown-ass man, you can do what you want," she says. "Rather you'd be with Sasha or someone else than alone, if you won't stay here. You need people around you, through all this. You need anchors." 

"All my 'anchors' are just as deep in this as me," he tells her. 

"Well, still. I'm glad you're going to Sasha's. She seems like she's got a level head. And I don't think you should be alone right now." And the thing is that Jon doesn't actually think she's wrong. 

Georgie leans in to hug him, tells him to keep in touch and not to be a stranger. Under different circumstances, that might legitimately be funny. 

Jon does intend to stay in touch with Georgie—figures he'll text later and tell her he got to Sasha's okay. He thinks she'll appreciate that, maybe. 

He never gets the chance, though. He never makes it to Sasha's. He doesn't even make it off of Georgie's block. 

\---

After a couple days of Jon not showing up at the Institute, or at Sasha's flat, Sasha gets Georgie Barker's number from Melanie. (Because Sasha wouldn't be surprised if Jon had changed his mind about the couch offer for some noble reason and forgot to tell her, but she knows something must be _really_ wrong if Jon is willingly not showing up to work.) Jon hasn't answered his phone, and Sasha doesn't know if this is because he's lost it, or he's hiding from them again, or because something is really wrong, and everyone is starting to get a little worried, so she calls Georgie Barker, on speaker phone in Jon's office with Martin sitting right there because he's the most concerned about all this.

Georgie's polite at first—"Oh, Sasha, Martin, right, I remember you. It's good to talk to you during… different circumstances." She asks a few questions about how things are at the Institute, and Sasha answers, trying to tell herself that if Georgie is calm like this, it must mean Jon is fine. (She _likes_ Georgie, between what Jon's said and what Melanie's said and their brief interaction while Martin and Tim were missing. Maybe they should start inviting her to the pub; that's one strategy for getting Jon to come out with them.) But then Martin brings up Jon, pressing a bit, and Georgie's tone shifts. "You… you haven't talked to him?" she says confusedly. 

Martin's eyes are wide with concern now. "Uh, no," Sasha says, picking up her phone and looking at her texts with Jon again. Nothing after her brief _See you later_ text. "No, he, uh… he mentioned wanting to leave your flat, to keep you out of danger. I asked if he'd want to stay with me for a bit. But he never… never showed at my place, and he hasn't been to the Institute."

"Or answering his phone. Or texts," Martin says shortly, forehead pressed into his hands. He has his call logs pulled up on his phone; Sasha sees unanswered call after unanswered call. 

"Oh, _shit_ ," Georgie says in a low tone. "He… he left here three days ago. Said he needed to move out right away, said something about staying with you… I-I assumed he'd made it over. I thought it was weird he wasn't answering me, but I figured he just didn't want to talk…" 

" _Fuck,_ " Martin says, sounding almost angry. 

When Sasha looks back at him, he's fumbling for his phone, pressing his thumb to the Call button on Jon's contact page. "Martin, we don't _know_ that something bad's happened to him," she tries, although the words sound false even as she says them. She's got a feeling in the pit of her gut, an instinct: there's a reason Jon never made it over to her flat, or back to the Institute. 

"Yeah, and what happened the last time he didn't show up at Georgie's? Some evil cop lady had grabbed him and dragged him to the woods to kill him." Martin wrenches the phone away from his ear. " _Shit._ Still voicemail." 

Sasha's thinking about that night at her place, when Jon came to tell them about Nikola. She said that Jon had until she changed her mind. She knew where Jon was living. "Fuck," she says quietly, pressing a hand to her mouth. 

"Sasha? Martin?" Georgie says on the other end. "You don't think this is… He's in trouble, isn't he?'

Sasha sighs, eyes shut. "We don't… we don't know, Georgie," she says. She searches her mind for an answer and lands on the first thing she can find. "Do you… does your building have a security camera on the outside? Something that records?"

"Y-yeah. Yes, it does. I could ask the landlord, but he's weird about people looking at stuff like that… This is more important, though. I'll call him."

"Don't bother," Sasha says shortly. She's hacked into security footage before; she and Tim did it two Halloweens ago in an attempt to prove that the weird sounds in her building were the result of a seasonal prank and not a ghost or something like that. She watches Martin frustratedly press End for a third time on an unanswered call. "Can we… can we come over, Georgie? I think I might have a way to get in."

\---

Georgie has quite a lot of good technology from the podcast. She lets Sasha borrow her laptop and set up camp on her couch for nearly two hours, trying to get in. She makes tea for Martin, and they sit on the couch and watch, taking turns petting the Admiral. (Sasha's starting to see why Jon is always bragging about that cat.) 

Georgie's got a strange demeanor about her, almost stiff; she's definitely worried, definitely concerned, but something is… off about it. Sasha doesn't bother to pick it apart. Georgie clearly _is_ concerned, and that's all that really matters. There's more important things at hand. She and Martin stay on the couch the entire time Sasha is working, waiting for the answers they need. 

Eventually, Sasha finds what she's looking for, what she's been afraid of finding this whole time. A brief clip, in black and white, of Jon on the sidewalk in front of Georgie's building. And two large delivery men that Sasha immediately recognizes from statements and Martin's description, grabbing Jon and bundling him into a van that says _Breekon and Hope_ on the side.

\---

"I'm sorry, Jon's been _what?_ " Tim says. 

" _Kidnapped_ ," Martin snaps. "Do you want to see the video again?"

"How has this happened _again_? It hasn't even been that long since the last one," Melanie says incredulously, from her spot at her desk with Georgie. 

"This is my fault, really," Georgie says angrily. "I shouldn't have let him leave. I was all caught up in letting him make his own decisions and all that, but I _knew_ something was going to go badly. I should've… I handled that really fucking badly." Melanie finds Georgie's hand and squeezes it. 

"If we want to go down that road, we'll be here all night," Sasha says tiredly. " _I_ should've just come and gotten him from your place. I knew he was in danger, too. That's the whole reason he wanted to leave in the first place… I was sitting around thinking he'd decided to play the martyr again and that was why he never showed up to my flat."

Basira is hunched over the laptop, replaying the clip again and again. "Breekon and Hope," she says thoughtfully. "That's… that's the one from that statement, right? The one that Jon recorded last week? I listened to the tape."

"Yep, that's the one," Martin says sharply. "First they deliver an evil table that tries to eat Sasha, and now this. Sounds about right." Sasha lets her face fall into her hands. 

"So it's the Stranger," Tim says bluntly. "The Stranger has Jon, god only knows where, and now they're going to use him for their world-ending ritual." 

"We don't _know_ that," Sasha says quietly. "They wanted him to find the gorilla skin. Maybe they took him to… speed up the process."

"We know what the Stranger does to people. _I_ know, Sasha. I'm not going to assume they wouldn't do the same to Jon just because they want him to find some ancient skin," Tim snaps, and Sasha looks away to hide her wince.

"Also, he doesn't know where it is. None of us know where it is," says Martin, voice shaking. "So if they took him for that…" 

There's a long bit of uncomfortable silence where Sasha has to resist the urge to kick something, punch a hole in the wall. "I mean… we're going to find him, right?" Melanie says eventually. "We're going to look for him?"

"Of _course_ we're going to look for him," Martin says, like there's no question about it. 

"Except that we have no idea where they would've taken him," says Tim. "These Breekon and Hope things deliver all over the place, remember?"

"What about the taxidermy shop?" Melanie offers. 

"Maybe. Except they know we know about that. Seems too obvious to me," Sasha says quietly. She looks over to Basira, who is still watching the clip. "Basira? Anything? You used to be police."

Basira pauses the video and turns to Sasha. "There's a little glimpse of the plate, right here. But that doesn't do much for us. Daisy and I could've run it through databases, before… but we don't have access to that now."

"Right," Tim says bitterly, elbows thunking on his desk. "Of _course_."

"What about… what about the real police?" Georgie says suddenly, from her spot on Melanie's desk. "I mean, I know this isn't something most people would believe, but this is still a kidnapping case… this is a lot for _anyone_ to handle on their own."

Basira shakes her head. "Sectioned case. People don't like things associated with the Institute. Far as I can tell, Sectioned officers will be in lower numbers now that me and Daisy are gone. And besides that, us being associated with this case probably wouldn't help things."

"Couldn't you… _not_ be involved then?" Martin says, almost pointedly. "I mean, if it would help us figure out where Jon is…"

Sasha stands suddenly, so suddenly that her knees bang against the bottom of the desk. Tim and Melanie both jump at the sound. "We're overlooking the obvious answer," she says. She finds the corkscrew in her top drawer and picks it up. And then she heads for the office door, not looking back, even when Tim and Melanie and Martin call after her, asking what she's doing. If this goes badly, she doesn't want any of them to be here for it. 

She takes the stairs straight up and walks past Rosie's desk—Rosie's not there, thank god. It's after hours; they're practically the only people here. Except for Elias. Somehow, Sasha knows Elias is here. She walks straight into his office, brandishing the corkscrew, and says as harshly as she can, "Where's Jon?"

Elias doesn't look overly surprised; Sasha hates that, the knowledge that he's been watching her come up here. "Hello, Sasha," he says mildly. "Melanie's gotten you in on her plans to assassinate me, then?"

"What?" Sasha says incredulously. "No— _no!_ I'm here about Jon! I know you Know the Stranger's got him. I want to know where he is."

"You two really have quite a lot of loyalty to each other. I'm surprised; I hadn't expected you to be such good friends. Considering that Jon took a job that should have gone to you." 

Sasha slams the point of the corkscrew down into the edge of the desk. It leaves a white scratch in the wood. "Don't play the fucking mind games with me, Elias. I'm not in the mood. Jon's been taken, and we're going after him. So either you tell me where he is, or I put this corkscrew somewhere very painful." Elias shoots her a skeptical look, and she adds, "You said we died if _you_ were destroyed. Not if you got hurt or anything like that."

"Ah, yes. Loopholes." Elias sighs, folding his hands on his desk. "I appreciate your fervor, Sasha, and I'd love to help you. I really would. But I'm afraid I can't. I have no idea where Jon is."

"Bullshit!" Sasha snaps, hand curled so hard around the corkscrew that her knuckles are white. "You See everything! You _Know_ everything. How could you not…"

"There are limits even to my power, I'm afraid. And Jon's been taken by a power that rivals ours." Elias begins shuffling through papers on his desk, like they're discussing a—a fucking _coffee order_ or something like that. Not Jon's life. "I _do_ wish to locate him. I've been looking for leads for the past two days. But I don't think they intend to harm him, at least not immediately, so I don't think this is as urgent as you all think it is."

"I don't believe you," Sasha snaps. Elias doesn't look surprised. "You… how do I know _you_ didn't orchestrate this? Or at least that you're not going to take your fucking time finding Jon, because you're secretly glad he's been kidnapped and you're not in any hurry to get him out? How do I know this isn't part of your _plan_?"

"Believe me, Sasha," says Elias, "I don't want Jon to die any more than the rest of you do. His continued existence is essential to the survival of this Institute."

Sasha's own previous words run through her head, about threatening Elias, and she immediately feels sick. Like she could be sick right here on Elias's desk. "You can be hurt and still not die," she whispers. Trying not to imagine what's happening to Jon, wherever he is. 

"What was that?"

"Nothing," she snaps. She runs a hand sharply through the ends of her hair, balls her free hand into a fist. "You're not going to tell me anything," she says, defeated. Unwilling to push anymore, because call her crazy, but she does think Elias is telling the truth. Can't have Jon dying if he's a ritual to end the world, right? 

"I've told you, Sasha. There's nothing to tell." Elias smiles this time, that slimy smile that makes Sasha wish that Melanie or Daisy had actually killed him. "And you're not going to use that corkscrew on me. I know you're not. You're too worried about what will happen to your coworkers if you do."

He's right. He's right, and Sasha's chest stings with the knowledge that he's right. She hates him. "Fuck you," she says, simply, dropping the corkscrew into her pocket. And then she leaves. Nothing else to do, now. 

The others all look up when she enters the room, questioning on their faces. And hope, in the case of Martin and Georgie and maybe even Tim. Especially Martin; it's spilling off the edges. He wants her to say she's found Jon. 

She hates to make their faces fall, but she does anyway. Tells them, "Elias doesn't know where he is," and sits back at her desk heavily. Back to Square One. 

\---

Four days after they figure out that Jon’s been taken—six days he's been gone total—they still have no idea where he is. No leads, everything's dried up. Everyone has sort of contributed something—Basira contacts some old friends at the police, and even Daisy at one point, who is busy on errands for Elias and can't offer anything useful. Georgie gets ahold of the whole security tape for more clues, and uses her decent-sized Internet following to see if anyone's seen the van. Melanie and Tim and Martin drive out to the taxidermy shop—nothing there, of course. They aren't that lucky. 

Sasha is at her wit's end. She’s been trying to use her admittedly pathetic computer skills to figure out where they took Jon, and it is going nowhere. Probably because her best ideas are to try and hack into the security cameras of surrounding buildings. At one point, she and Georgie put in a request to track Jon’s phone, but that goes nowhere. It was dumped somewhere around Ilford, apparently—which could mean that they have Jon somewhere outside London, but it could also mean they’re just good at covering their tracks. Everything else has been a dead end. Elias continues to be unhelpful—either he still doesn’t know where Jon is, or he’s hiding any leads that he has found. Sasha isn’t quite sure, which only irritates her more.

Everyone’s on edge, these days; it’s hard not to be. Melanie and Basira have been at least a little on edge since they got hired. Tim is worried because it’s the Stranger, because it’s always the fucking Stranger—he’s been worrying about this since this Nikola person started stalking Jon, since the whole fiasco with the table. It’s Danny all over again, Sasha thinks—he and Basira got in an argument the other night that ended in Tim shouting, “I’m not letting them take anyone else!” and storming out. And Martin… of course Martin is worried. It’s Jon. It’s Jon, and Sasha thinks whatever the two of them have, Martin’s feelings progressed far past a crush a long time ago. Everyone is on edge, and there is still nothing to find. Leads are even more dried up than the ones for the Unknowing, which Sasha didn’t actually know was possible.

So: it has been four days, and still no leads, and Sasha and Martin are working late out of pure frustration. They asked Tim to stay, but he opted out, and Sasha’s not sure what he’s doing. (They haven’t talked much lately. They haven’t, and it’s… it’s fine. If space is what he needs, then fine.) They’re holed up in Jon’s office, because strange as it sounds, it’s about the only place in the office that feels safe—their usual desks are out in the open, and while the tunnels do have the advantage of no Elias, they also just seem pretty creepy in general. So, Jon’s office. Sasha’s already got a lot of stuff in there anyway. She’s on her laptop, peeling through a set of photos from the highway that goes through Ilford, looking for a giant white delivery van, and there’s still nothing. It’s a pretty pathetic attempt at searching for leads in the first place; even if she sees the van, it doesn’t mean they have Jon. They make a lot of deliveries. 

Sasha groans, beyond frustrated, and lets her head fall on her folded arms. It shouldn’t be this hard; it shouldn't be this fucking hard. They shouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of this so constantly; every week, she turns around, and there’s another crisis, somebody else in danger. Jon, Tim, Martin, Melanie, Basira, even fucking Leitner. Even her. And now the Stranger has Jon and he might already be dead or hurt bad, and they can’t fucking find him because their immortal boss’s clairvoyance decided to have a giant hiccup right now. She groans again, shutting her eyes with frustration, against a familiar burn that probably means she's about to cry. 

"Sasha?" Martin says tentatively, and from the way his voice cracks, Sasha thinks he's on the verge of tears, too. "Are you… all right?"

She nods a little, doesn't lift her head. She's got a strange burst of images in her mind; the grainy camera footage, the faint impressions of fear they could make out on Jon's face. She doesn't bother to push them away. 

Martin's hand is hovering over her back like he's going to comfort her, but then he pulls away. "I don't… I don't know what to do," he says under his breath, his tone sharp. "This all feels so fucking useless. I don't… we're _never_ going to find him this way."

They aren't. Or if they do, it will be too late. Sasha's sure she knows this. She keeps her eyes shut, forces herself to see it all again. Breekon and Hope grab Jon and force him into the back of a van. The van drives off. The van turns and turns and gets on a road out of London… 

"We should be able to… we work in a temple to the _Eye_ of all things!" Martin says. "B-but we haven't been able to, and so we won't find him, at least not in time, he's probably already dead…" 

Sasha keeps watching the movie behind her eyes. She's never seen this part before, not in any of the footage. Jon's in the back of the van, shaking with fear, tape recorder clutched in his hand. It isn't running. There's no seats in the back of the van; he slides back and forth with every jolt of the wheel. She doesn't know where they're going. She doesn't know how she's seeing any of this.

"Elias should… or _one_ of us, _somebody_ should be able to See him," Martin says, angry and nearly crying; Sasha can hear it in his voice. 

And then, between them on the table, a tape recorder crackles to life, and Sasha's head shoots up at the familiar sound. Not recording, but playing something. Playing… 

It's a woman's voice, pitched high, saying, _Oh, it does work! What have you been recording? Anything spooky?_ And then, underneath that, coming out muffled—"That's Jon," Martin blurts, fumbling for the recorder. "Sasha, listen, listen, that's— _that's Jon_."

"Shh," Sasha says, nodding, and they both lean in to listen. Jon's been gagged, or something, so they can't make out words from him, but the woman talking over him comes out fine. (Breekon and Hope are there, too; Sasha's never met them, but Martin confirms it is them with a nod.) The woman seems to be talking to Elias, taunting him; something about a coffin, and about what's happening with Jon. But when she brings up something about bad waxworks, Martin's face shifts in understanding, and he goes fumbling for his laptop. "I-I think I might know where they have him," he says softly. "Just… just let me…" He taps frantically at the keyboard, face drawn with worry. 

Sasha nods and leans close to the recorder, still listening. It's genuinely hard to listen to, Jon's muffled fear; Martin seems as bad off as her, wincing audibly even as he keeps his eyes on his computer screen. The woman seems to be talking about _skinning_ Jon, for the Unknowing, she guesses, and the thought genuinely makes Sasha sick to her stomach. She remembers Tim telling her about what happened to Danny, his hands shaking between hers as he talked about Danny's skin. Tim had thought they might do the same to Jon; he'd been right all along. 

Finally, the recording fizzles out. Sasha stabs at the Play button to try and get it again, but it doesn't work. Nothing but empty tape whirring. She can't even get the original recording back, if it was even a recording at all. She shuts her eyes again and bites back a groan of frustration. "Martin…" she says, wobbly, and hopes he's found something they can use. 

"Sash," says Martin, sounding as bad as her, "I think I…" He turns his laptop towards her, and when she opens her eyes, she sees what he's showing. The House of Wax in Great Yarmouth. All the images look like what the woman (Nikola, Sasha thinks) described: _Wax faces where you feel like you almost recognise who it’s meant to be, but then instead…_

"Is this it?" Martin says, poking at the screen. "I don't—I mean, I could be wrong, but when she said that, I thought… we _have_ to find him, Sasha." He swipes at his eyes briefly. "I… we have to."

"We do," Sasha says quietly, and she takes his hand. "I… I think this is it, Martin. It's… it's at least more of a lead than we've had in a while."

Martin's eyes light up with hope, just a bit. "Oh. Oh, well, uh… should we…"

"We'll go right now," she says, squeezes his hand and lets go. It's a couple hours away; bit of a haul, but it's early in the day, and she can't bring herself to care right now. "We'll… right now. Let's go get the others."

\---

"Tell me again how you figured out where Jon is?" Basira says for what must be the fifth time, on the drive to Great Yarmouth, and Sasha pushes back the urge to snap at her. She's sort of grown to like Basira better in the time since Basira's been hired, weird as that sounds, but the past few days have sort of left them all in a cranky state. 

"We've gone over this three times now," Melanie says tiredly from her spot in the backseat, where she is texting Georgie updates. (They'd all decided sort of mutually, Melanie especially, that Georgie shouldn't come. Georgie is still pretty far out of this, and the last thing any of them want to do is involve her further.) "Do we have to go over it _again?_ "

"Second that," Tim mutters. He's driving, foot too hard to the pedal, teeth gritting the whole time. 

"I want to know," says Basira. "If—if Elias couldn't see him, then how the hell could…"

"We don't _know_ , Basira. Okay?" Martin snaps. "We were just sitting around discussing how we couldn't find him, and then the tape came on, and it was Jon and whoever's grabbed him. But that seems about on par with every other spooky thing that happens in this place." 

"Has that ever happened before? Ever?" Basira prods. 

Sasha sighs, turning in her shotgun spot to look at Basira, who's in the very back of the car—they'd sprung for a larger rental, with more than one seat, in the hopes of having Jon with them when they leave. "No, it hasn't. But that doesn't necessarily mean it's dangerous."

"I just want to know what we're walking into here," says Basira. "If it's some sort of trap. Maybe they're trying to lure us there. Maybe they don't even _have_ Jon here in the first place; maybe we've made a mistake."

"The place has been closed for four years now," says Melanie, waving her phone in the air for emphasis. "And it's got creepy as shit wax figures. Might as well be taxidermy and mannequins and clowns, right? Sounds like the perfect place for your creepy clown cult to keep a kidnap victim."

"It's the right place," Sasha says. She isn't sure how she knows that, but she does. 

"Okay," says Basira. "That still doesn't tell us if it's a trap." 

"I don't _care_ if it's a trap," says Martin, voice fierce. "They've got Jon, and they're going to _skin_ him, and I'm not just going to sit around twiddling my thumbs while…" He's cut off by a pained sound coming from the front seat. Sasha whirls and sees the look on Tim's face, like barely tempered grief. Like when she played the Circus tape for him in the storage room; like when they told him about the Unknowing. But worse this time. He looks like he's going to throw up. 

"Oh," Martin says, voice thick with guilt now. "Oh, Tim, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Tim says, choked. "No, really, it's—it's what they _do,_ right?" 

Sasha fumbles for Tim's hand on the steering wheel and holds it tight. Tim doesn't pull away, but his fingers are stiff between hers. Sasha holds back the thick urge in her chest to cry. 

"But they haven't done it to Jon," Basira offers, shocking moment where she's the voice of reason. "Not yet. Because Sasha and Martin wouldn't have gotten that message if he was dead, right?"

Sasha says nothing. Martin rubs at his face in the backseat. Tim drives, hands startlingly steady on the wheel. 

"So, what's the, uh… what's the plan?" Melanie says after a moment. When Sasha looks back, she's clutching her phone hard. "What are we doing once we get there?"

Martin and Basira are sort of looking at her, too, like they expect her to have the answers. Sasha doesn't feel like she has any answers. She doesn't want to answer, even though she supposes she did ask for this. Wanted to be Archivist and everything. She would have been a shit Archivist. Would have died a long time ago. 

"We break in," she says with a sigh. "Hope we find Jon. Hope we don't die. If someone has a better plan, please feel free to share."

No one does. Tim keeps driving. Sasha keeps a hold of his hand and desperately hopes that Jon isn't dead yet. 

\---

Everything goes wrong inside the horrible, creepy wax museum. In retrospect, Melanie thinks she should have seen it coming. 

They split into groups, like it's grade school group assignments. Melanie sort of wants to be with Sasha or Basira, simply because she's bonded with them more than Martin or Tim (and because she really is still stuck in grade school, obviously), but Basira says she should go alone because she's former police and she's got a gun, and Sasha goes with Martin, so Melanie goes with Tim. 

Tim's been on edge this whole long trip, quiet and jittery and distracted. He must be thinking of his brother; Melanie doesn't know much about it, but from what she does know, she thinks it makes complete sense that he would be thinking about his brother now. He doesn't say much when she offers to go with him, just looks down at his shoes, pushes one toe against the ground. They're parked about a block away from the wax museum and he hasn't once looked towards it. 

"Maybe… splitting up is a bad idea," Martin says before they go in. They've found three separate entrances to go into, in hopes of covering the most ground. Basira's been checking the windows and listening at the doors and she says it sounds quiet. Melanie's hoping this will be quick, in and out, save Jon, and no evil clowns. She's not in the mood for evil clowns. "If one of us finds Jon, how do we let the others know? Without, um, alerting everyone in there to where we are."

"We don't know how many people are in there," Melanie offers. "It could be just one, right? Or… do they sleep, do you think?"

"I seriously doubt it's just one," Basira says. Sasha nods, silent. 

"We can text," Tim says suddenly. "We've all got our phones, right? We can check in once we've got a better handle of the place." He's got a sudden hardness in his voice, and Melanie finds herself wondering—if they _do_ find Jon without getting evil-clown-attacked, will that be enough? Is Tim going in hoping to burn the whole place down? Melanie isn't sure she'd mind if that was the case. If it'd stop the end of the world, seems worth it. And she doesn't think anything in here is really human. (Not not-human in the way of, like… people who have been taken over by this stuff. Not human in the fact that it's literally mannequins and wax figures and whatever.)

It isn't until they're inside, and Melanie is following Tim down a dark hallway loading with creepy fucking wax figures, knife in hand, that she remembers an important part of them not being human, at least not anymore. Daisy Tonner shot one at the taxidermy shop, and nothing happened. It went on just fine. So, their weapons aren't going to do anything probably. Anything at all.

They shouldn't have split up. Martin was right. Melanie just doesn't figure this out until she hears him shouting. 

Tim's eyes go wide with immediate fear and he breaks out in a run, towards the sound of Martin's voice. "Tim, no!" Melanie hisses, and then she's running, too, before the panic has time to build. She can hear voices as they move through the hallways, familiar ones like Sasha and Martin and then the unfamiliar—two fake-sounding Cockney accents, and then another sing-song-y voice that's startlingly high-pitched. She hears distinct words just as she catches up with Tim—"Well, I do believe you're trespassing!"—and she grabs Tim by the tail of his shirt on instinct and hauls him back, clapping a panicked hand over his mouth just as he says one of their names. 

Around the corner, she can sort of see Sasha and Martin, and they're surrounding by a horrifying mannequin thing (Nikola, probably, the thing that showed up to Georgie's flat, and Melanie has to bite back a shudder at that) and two men she immediately recognizes from the security camera footage. Sasha's eyes jerk towards them and land; a moment of panic passes through them before she composes herself. Trying not to give them away, Melanie guesses. She hauls Tim backwards as best she can, trying her best not to make any noise. 

"Are you alone? You _can't_ be alone. I know how many assistants the Archivist has," the mannequin woman says cheerily, and Melanie hauls Tim around another corner, shoves him against the wall in a shadowy spot. He's been trying to get away this whole time, yanking at her arms, and he glares at her now; she hisses, "Tim, don't be stupid, we _can't help them_ if they find us." She prays, briefly, that they haven't found Basira. They probably haven't; no gunshots. 

Martin's asked where Jon is, Melanie thinks, his voice high and furious, and the mannequin woman is laughing and saying something about paying him a visit… Melanie suppresses the urge to curse out loud and takes her hand away from Tim's mouth to grab his wrist, hoping he'll have the good sense not to yell. He doesn't, thank fuck; he's still turned towards the hall, desperation in his eyes that only grows when Sasha yelps, and Melanie wants to go after them, too, but she knows they'll have no chance, all they have is her knife that won't even work. She tugs Tim towards an Emergency Exit door, manages to pull him that way even as he's trying to go for Sasha and Martin, and pushes out of it, immediately grateful when the alarm doesn't sound. She keeps running away from the building until she finds Basira, Tim's pulse rabbit-thumping under her fingers and the grating laughter of the mannequin lady echoing in her ears. 

\---

Jon sleeps a lot here. The days all run together, one hour after another, until everything becomes a confusing blur, and he's not ready to make much sense of it. So he sleeps, most of the time, between the moisturizing and Nikola's monologuing and all of it. There isn't much else to do, so he might as well. There doesn't seem to be any real way out of here; he doesn't think he's leaving, one way or another. No escape.

He's sleeping when Nikola comes in this time. He jolts back to consciousness when the door to his room slams open, but it takes a moment to fully come back to awareness. He hears Nikola singing out, " _Hello_ , Archivist!" and he shuts his eyes with frustration, unwilling to engage too heavily in this. He doesn't think he's been here more than a week, but it already feels like an eternity, and he's already sick of trying to bargain with Nikola through a fucking gag. Nikola says, "You've got _guests_ ," and this isn't enough to make Jon open his eyes. It's probably Breekon and Hope again, or some other sort of Stranger avatar, and he's not in the mood; he'll just play possum until he can't anymore. 

But then he hears a startled voice— _Martin's_ voice, saying, "Jon?" And that's when Jon's eyes fly open in fear. 

Nikola is here, and Breekon and Hope, and held in place by Breekon and Hope are Sasha and Martin. Sasha's got a layer of barely contained fury on her face, yanking at the grip Hope has on her twisted-back arm, but she's staring at Jon, too, with clear concern. And Martin… Martin just looks worried. Jon shakes his head without thinking, frantic, because all he can think is that they _can't be here._ How are they _here?_

"These are your coworkers, right?" Nikola says cheerfully. "The little assistants? I think you've missed them, yes? I can see it in your eyes."

" _Fuck off_ ," Sasha snaps, wriggling furiously in Hope's grip. "Jon, are you o—?" She's cut off abruptly by Hope's palm pressed over her mouth. Jon breathes hard through his nose, yanking at the ropes around his wrist. (They don't give. They haven't given yet.)

"They talk _so much._ Just like you, Archivist. But I have to tell you, I'm happy they're here!" Nikola taps at Martin's shoulder with her hard plastic hand, and he flinches. "You've been so _lonely_ . And so _rude…_ maybe a little company is all you need to keep you in line."

It becomes clear, then, why they're here; it's to serve as _leverage_ , so Jon won't resist and won't try to escape. Nikola can stand there with her hands around Martin's and Sasha's throats and she knows he won't do a thing so they won't be hurt. Jon's eyes yank back and forth between Martin and Sasha and back to Martin. Martin's arm is twisted up too, maybe further back than Sasha's, and he looks like he's about to cry. He says, "Jon, I'm so sorry. I'm s—" And then Breekon's hand is over his mouth, too. Jon struggles against the ropes, looks back at Nikola. She smiles, mouth like blood-red paint. "Just think, Archivist," she says. "We _do_ need more skins for the dance… and none of us has _ever_ worn an archival assistant before."

Martin's eyes widen even further; Sasha makes a muffled sound of disbelief, thrashing harder in place. " _No_ ," Jon says, loudly as he can, shaking his head wildly. It comes out garbled through the gag, but he says it again and again until the words don't even sound right. 

"So much _devotion,_ " Nikola says with relish. "This is going to be _fun,_ Archivist. And there are others here, too, aren't there? Others who might come back? You'll tell me, won't you, Sasha—can I call you Sasha?" She touches her plastic fingertips to Sasha's cheek, and Sasha yanks away, breathing hard. Jon doesn't know what Nikola means by _others_ —Tim, probably, or Melanie and Basira. He hopes they're far away from here. 

"Let them go," he says through the gag, pleading, hoping they'll try to understand. He's looking at Martin and Sasha, their eyes full of fear and apology, and he keeps trying, saying, "Let them go, please, you don't _need them,_ you have _me_." 

But they aren't listening, or they don't care. Nikola is still smiling—she is always smiling—when she turns to Breekon and Hope and says, "Let's get our new guests settled, shall we?" Breekon and Hope haul Martin and Sasha towards the door, hauling them nearly off their feet. Sasha is still struggling, staring at their captors with a deep level of contempt, but Martin is looking back. He's saying something from behind Breekon's hand, muffled, but it almost sounds like he's calling Jon's name. 

Jon yanks at his bonds, struggling harder than he has the whole time he's been here, shouting their names behind the gag. It doesn't do a thing. The door closes behind them anyway.

\---

"We have to go back in," Tim says, nearly spitting with anger. "They have Jon, and they took Sash and Martin, and we just _left_ … we _have_ to go back, we have to."

"We can't just go charging in there by ourselves," Basira says, matter-of-factly. "It's a miracle we even got out without being caught."

"So what, we're just going to leave them there, then?" Tim snaps. "You have a _gun_ ! Surely that's going to give us _some_ sort of advantage!"

"Against mannequins? And whatever the hell else was in there?"

"I'm with Tim," Melanie says, voice hard. "We can't just abandon them in there, that's not…"

"I'm not suggesting we _abandon_ them," Basira says, in a patient sort of way that drives Tim mad. "I'm just suggesting we consider this logically. Come back with a better plan."

"What, like your crazed murder cop partner?" Tim kicks the stone wall of the alley and immediately regrets it; he feels like a three year old having a tantrum, but he _can't fucking help it._ They took his brother, these things took his brother and killed him, and he is _not_ going to lose his friends to them. He can't. "I'll bet if it was her in there, you wouldn't be saying all this," he adds in a venomous tone, before he can stop himself. 

Anger flickers like storm clouds over Basira's face. "That's not fair."

"Oh, isn't it? You two have this weird little pact going on, and clearly the lives of others don't matter very much in that."

"That's not true," says Basira, voice low. "... I saved Jon before, didn't I?"

"Maybe… maybe we should go somewhere else and regroup," Melanie says tentatively, although she doesn't sound like she likes it. "Come up with a better plan. If we get taken in there, too…"

"Fuck that. I'm _not leaving them here_ ," Tim spits. "I'll go in without you if I have to."

"Have you considered that there's another option?"

The voice that speaks is distinctly not Basira or Melanie, but Tim knows it anyway. Recognizes it from the tunnels, from the hallways he and Martin blindly stumbled through. He whirls around to find a yellow door in the wall of the alley, and Michael standing in front of it. "No," he says immediately, sternly, like he's scolding a dog. "Fuck off."

Michael smiles. "So hostile. And here I was coming to offer my assistance."

"Who the hell is this?" Basira says, and Tim can hear her drawing her gun. Beside him, Melanie is staring confusedly, knife in hand. "Is that… is that _Michael?_ " she says incredulously. 

Tim nods distractedly. "What do you mean, _assistance?_ " he says, disgusted. 

"My hallways could take you in and out undetected. Directly to where your friends are. And the agents of the Stranger would never know," Micheal says, as if benevolent. 

"No offense, but why are we supposed to trust you? Considering all I've heard about you is that you trapped Tim and Martin, and stabbed Jon," Melanie snaps. 

_Daisy stabbed Jon, too, and we still let her hang around,_ Tim thinks, near hysterically. He's not looking at any of them anymore; he's looking at that door. There is no part of him that wants to go back into those hallways—but he remembers how they are. He and Martin went in them in the tunnels, and were dumped out in the upstairs part of the Archives. Two different places. Opens one place, opens again in another.

"I have my own investments in this," says Michael. "My own reasons for helping. That's all, really." 

"Sorry, who are you again?" Basira snaps. "Cause I don't know you very well, but I don't trust you, either. Call it an instinct."

"I'm Michael," Michael says, like that's an end-all. 

Tim looks at the door, at the chipped painted wood. Remembers the wallpaper, the way it warped. The way time was in there, sluggish and wrong. How long he and Martin stumbled around without making any progress, how fucked his head was when they got out. He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't. 

But he keeps seeing a movie play in the back of his mind. The huge delivery men lugging Jon into a van. The same men hauling Sasha and Martin off. Something pulling their skin off, all three of them, the same way they'd done to Danny, and Tim hadn't realised he knew what it sounds like when all three of them scream, but he can hear it perfectly in his mind…

"I'll do it," he says, shortly. 

Michael smiles, almost self-satisfied. His expression is warped, like Tim is seeing him through a fish tank. 

"Seriously?" Basira says, voice thick with disbelief. 

"Tim, you're _kidding,_ " says Melanie. "Don't tell me you've forgotten him trapping you in the walls."

"You'd take me to them?" Tim says sharply to Michael, ignoring them both. "Jon, Martin, Sasha? You'll help me get them out?" Michael just smiles. 

"You're insane," Melanie says, "if you can think we can trust him. I've never met him, and even _I_ know that."

"I _don't_ trust him," Tim says, pushing back the pain in his chest. "But I… I have to do this. I have to get them out. I won't leave them in there." He doesn't know if he can save them—he couldn't save Danny—but he knows he has to try. 

He just wants to save someone, to have them come out the other side all right. And if he loses any of them… if he loses Sasha… 

"I have to do this," he says, turning back to Melanie and Basira. "You can do what you want. I don't care."

Melanie sighs, clutching her knife so hard her knuckles are nearly white. "No, I'm coming. I… I'm coming. I don't want to abandon them, either." She fixes Michael with a glare over Tim's shoulder. "I don't trust him, though. Not for a second."

"Me, either," says Basira. (She catches up fast, Tim supposes.) "Any false moves," she tells Michael, "and I'll put you down. Understand?"

Michael laughs, the same trippy sound as always. It makes Tim's head hurt. "The rules aren't as simple as that, Detective."

"Shut up," Tim snaps, unwilling to hear anymore. "Cut the shit, and take us to them."

Michael puts his knife hand on the doorknob and tugs. "I have the door right here. All you have to do is step inside." 

Beyond the door is that familiar swirl of colors, the familiar uneasy feeling that Tim remembers of nothing being _right_. Like a horrible sort of fun house. It makes his head hurt just looking at it. He doesn't want to step into that hallway; he doesn't. He's worried if they do, they'll never come out. But he doesn't have a choice. He knows this; if he wants to get them out, he doesn't have a choice. 

Tim thinks of his friends, thinks of his brother, and then he steps over the threshold. 

\---

When the bright yellow door opens again, the first thing Tim sees is Jon, gagged and tied to a chair, slumped over like he’s asleep. Or unconscious. He is breathing, though—Tim can see the rise and fall of his chest—and his immediate reaction is deep, immense relief that Jon is still alive. (If this is still Jon. It looked like his brother, the thing they’d pulled the skin off of. Tim doesn’t know what happened before then, and he doesn’t want to know.) But Jon looks up at the door creaking shut, at Tim’s and Melanie’s and Basira’s feet on the floorboards, and his eyes fill with an odd sort of relief and panic all at once, and Tim knows it’s him. Doesn’t make much sense for them to keep an agent of the fucking Stranger tied up anyway, unless this is a trap. 

(Tim feels worry wash over him at the same time as the relief, that Martin and Sasha aren’t here. He tries to focus on the relief. Tries to tell himself that if they haven’t killed Jon, they probably haven’t killed Martin and Sasha, either. One thing at a time.)

“You sure that’s him?” Basira asks softly, eyes on the door—the normal door, leading out of the room. “These things can take faces, right?”

“It’s him,” Tim and Melanie say at the same time. Melanie holds up a Polaroid—the one of all of them. She must have grabbed it before they left. 

Tim shakes his head a little and moves to untie Jon—there’s not time to argue about this, not when they’re all still in danger. They're absolutely surrounded by wax figures, and it's putting him on edge. Jon’s eyes are still huge with worry, and he says something that sounds like Tim’s name through the gag. “Jon? Are you all right?” Tim asks, working at the knot behind his head. “Did they hurt you?”

As soon as he pulls the gag away, Jon blurts in a raspy voice, “They’ve got them. Martin and Sasha, they have them here.” He grabs the hem of Tim’s shirt as soon as Melanie frees his hands, a frantic sort of motion.

“We know, we _know_ —where _are_ they?” Tim says, trying to push the desperation out of his voice as he works at the rest of the knots. 

“I don’t… I don’t know.” There’s defeat in Jon’s voice now, and he loosens his grip and sits back in the chair, makes no move to get up even though Tim and Melanie have completely freed him. "I don't… Nikola took them somewhere. I couldn't stop her. I tried to stop her."

"We'll find them," Basira says, in that clinical sort of way she has about her. Tim swallows hard and hopes she's right. Then she continues, shooting a stern glare over her shoulder at the door: "Michael can take us there, too, right?"

"Michael?" Jon says incredulously. "You're… you're here with him?" He looks between Tim and Melanie like he's searching for confirmation. 

"He had a way in," says Melanie, "that didn't involve someone else getting kidnapped." 

Jon looks at Tim, and all Tim can say is, "Look, I don't like it either. But I had to get you and Sasha and Martin out of here, and this was the only way."

"We can't trust him," Jon says in a hushed voice; Tim looks over his shoulder and sees Michael standing in front of the doorway now.

"That doesn't matter," Tim says, because as much as he'd like to not trust the thing that stabbed Sasha and Jon, and imprisoned him and Martin, as much as he'd like to get out of here in a way that involves taking down these fuckers who killed his brother and are trying to end the world, it's more important that they all get out of here alive. He holds out a hand to help Jon up. "Come on. We've got to get Sasha and Martin and get out of here."

Jon takes it and gets shakily to his feet, unsteady. "I… thank you," he says, almost avoiding Tim's eyes. "For coming for me. I hadn't thought anyone w—just, thank you."

Tim blinks, surprised, says, "You're an idiot, Jon," in a shockingly thick voice, and jerks forward to hug him, for the first time in a long time. Jon is stiff in the embrace, still shaking a bit, but he hugs him back, and Tim can't help thinking, ridiculously, _I missed you,_ even though Jon's mostly been here the whole time. His friend. 

Melanie claps Jon on the shoulder in a not entirely unaffectionate matter. "It _is_ good to see you in one piece, but should we maybe continue this somewhere else?" she says in a loud whisper. "Like, _after_ we have Sasha and Martin back?"

Basira, who is listening by the door, nods. "There's things out there. Far off, but I can hear them." 

"Right." Tim lets go, the reality of the situation hard in his mind again. He keeps seeing that last moment in the halls, where the deliverymen pulled Sasha and Martin off. The way that Sasha kept looking back at where he and Melanie were hiding, then looked away quick so she wouldn't give them away. He looks to Jon, and then back at Michael. "Are we ready then?" 

"We can't trust him," Jon says, making less attempt to hide it this time. "You know that."

"Scared, Archivist?" Michael smiles—or at least Tim thinks he does. It hurts to look at, so he looks away, stares at the botched wax figures and tries to shake the feeling that he's back in the place where Danny died.

"You're plotting something," Jon says. "I-I don't know what, but I… something's off. I can feel it." 

"What do you mean?" Basira says, a bit sharply. "What's _off_?"

"I don't _know,_ it's just… wrong," says Jon, voice still thick with frustration. 

Tim looks back at Michael, stares at him hard. There's nothing in his face that looks like smugness, nothing visible in his face at all. "Maybe—maybe we shouldn't…" Melanie begins. 

Michael laughs, in that same head splitting way. "And what other choice do you have? The agents of the Stranger are on the other side of this door. You cannot get out without alerting them. And as the Archivist could tell you, you'll all meet a very unpleasant fate with them."

Tim shudders, involuntarily, feels the revulsion come over him all at once. "Are they alive?" he blurts, eyes burning. "Sasha and Martin, are they alive?"

Michael looks amused. "I cannot tell you that."

"I think they are. Nikola… Nikola seemed more interested in using them as leverage than anything else," says Jon, sounding sick. "So we… we have to go. We have to get them out of here."

"And you'll take us to them?" Melanie says sharply, pointing the end of her pocket knife at Michael. 

Michael almost shrugs. "I suppose you'll have to open the door and see," it says, smiling. "Right this way, Archivist. Open the door, and I'll take you and your assistants out of here." 

Jon chews at his lower lip, squares his shoulders and reaches for the doorknob. Tim watches as he tries to turn it and it catches. "Er, it's…" he says, trying it a couple more times. 

"What?" Michael says. Tim hears a familiar sounding clatter of a gun in Basira's hand. 

"It's locked," says Jon. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," says Tim, immediately, thinking of the hallways, how long he and Martin spent pounding at that door before they gave up.

"It's not," says Michael. 

"What the hell is going on here?" Melanie snaps incredulously. Jon is still trying to turn the doorknob. 

"It _can't_ be locked," Michael says, sounding scared for the first time in the limited interactions Tim has had with him. 

"Open the door," Basira snaps, pushing past Melanie and Tim to aim her gun at Michael. "Open the goddamn door!"

Michael doesn't seem to notice the gun trained on him; probably wouldn't affect him anyways. He's too focused on that yellow door. He grabs the handle in his sharp hands and keeps turning it, quicker than Jon was. He mutters something like, "Th-Tha-That-That’s… not—" 

That's when Tim realizes that Michael _is_ afraid. And even with what little he understands about this, he _knows_ that can't be good. 

"Oh. Oh, no," Michael says. And then he starts to scream. 

The scream is earsplitting, and Tim stumbles back and shuts his eyes on instinct. The scream sounds genuinely painful, and maybe that should worry Tim more, but all he can think is, _They are going to find us, and then they will kill Sasha and Martin._ Somewhere, Melanie shouts with surprise. Somewhere, a door opens. 

When Tim opens his eyes, Melanie has her knife out, and Basira still has her gun aimed at the spot where Michael used to be. Jon's face is drawn with fear; he's trembling in place. And a new woman is standing in the doorway, a woman with Michael's sharp hands, saying, "Do you want to come in?"

"You," Tim says, feeling faint. Trying to take this all in and listen for the footsteps of Jon's captors all at once. "Y-you were in the hallways. Martin and I wanted to help you."

The woman smiles at Tim, a little sadly. Jon says, stammering, "Wh… Helen? H-Helen Richardson? But… But y—Michael…" 

"Michael isn't me," says Helen Richardson. "Not now."

"Sorry, who is this?" Melanie demands. "And what just happened?"

"Same question," Basira says sharply, not lowering her gun. 

"Michael was… distracted. Let feelings that shouldn’t have been his overwhelm me. Lost my way," Helen says, like she _was_ Michael. "He wanted to kill you, Archivist. That was his plan as soon as you entered my hallways."

"Sorry," Tim says, furious now, " _what?_ "

"And what about the rest of us? What would he have done with us?" Basira demands.

"Trapped you here, I suppose," says Helen, almost nonchalant. "Except for possibly Sasha. He did like Sasha."

Melanie and Basira are practically sputtering with anger and maybe disbelief. Jon doesn't seem too phased; just tired. "And now? Y—you’re Helen?"

"I don’t know. I never know, not really. Do I need a name?"

"Ah… No, I s-suppose not," says Jon. 

"Helen is… better than Michael."

Tim's too tired to follow most of this, especially while Sasha and Martin are still being held captive. "So, what now?" he demands. "You going to kill and trap us, too?"

"Not if I've got anything to say about it," Basira mutters through clenched teeth. 

Helen mostly looks amused. "Your weapons are more or less useless against me, Detective. I know I've told you this before." She addresses Jon and Tim now, saying, "Killing you was Michael’s desire, not mine."

"So what do you want?" Jon says, sounding just as tired. 

"I don’t know. Helen liked you, so… there’s a lot to consider. But I will help you leave."

"And Sasha and Martin?" Tim presses, unwilling to completely trust this thing, but unwilling _not_ to trust her, either. He won't leave them here. Won't lose anything fucking else to this. 

"Yes, them as well," says Helen. 

"And how do we know you're not lying to us?" says Melanie, still wary as she moves to stand beside Tim. "How are we supposed to trust you? If you're the… new Michael or whatever."

Helen smiles, in the same way that Michael would. "What can you do? What choice do you have?" 

\---

Martin's not sure how long they're in the room before the door appears. A few hours, maybe. Breekon and Hope brought them in and tied them to chairs the way Jon was, while Nikola stood around and monologued for what felt like months, about the dance and about Jon, and about vague threats to skin them. (She said something about how the larger one wouldn't need much moisturizer, but Sasha certainly would, and wasn't it _lucky_ the Archivist had such a large stash to share. That left Martin shuddering, his skin crawling for what felt like hours.) Then they were left in here alone. Martin had halfway hoped that they'd take them back into the room with Jon—just to see that he was all right; and maybe between the three of them, they could get out, escape. But they didn't, and Martin's starting to think that's on purpose. 

Jon looked horrible, when they saw them. Bruised and terrified, shouting things Martin couldn't make out. It sounds like they're planning to skin Jon, too, and the thought makes Martin sick on his stomach. He wants to get out of here; he just wants them all to be safe. They still have no idea what happened to Tim and Melanie and Basira; Martin's praying that they got out, that they're safe and far off from here and not just dead somewhere. 

He and Sasha can't talk, not with the gags. But they somehow managed to figure out a way to work on escaping; they've shoved their chairs back to back (somewhat clumsily and with a lot of near falls; it's hard to get around with your ankles tied), and are trying to untie each other's hands. Sasha's working on Martin's ropes, fingers fumbling numbly at the knots, when the door appears in the wall, and Jon and Tim and Melanie and Basira come spilling out of it. Behind the gag, Sasha says something that sounds vaguely like, _Thank god,_ and pats Martin's pins-and-needles palms clumsily with her fingertips. 

Tim goes to Sasha first, of course, saying, "Sash? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" and Sasha says, "Is this the part where I say I knew you'd come?" and the relief is audible in her voice. Martin doesn't linger over that; Basira is untying his hands, behind him, and Jon is leaning over to undo the gag. His hands are trembling a bit, Martin can feel it, and he says, "Martin…" in a soft tone that Martin can't read. 

Martin flexes his jaw, brings his hands around front and says immediately, "Jon, are you all right? I-I'm so sorry… we were trying to find you, a-and there were just too many of them…"

" _Martin_ ," Jon says again, disbelieving. He reaches out rapidly and grabs Martin's hands in his. "You were… you could've been _killed_."

Martin's head is spinning. Sasha and Tim are hugging behind him, their foreheads pressed together, and Sasha's whispering, "I did know, you know. I knew you would come." He looks up at Jon, at the horrible creases in the side of his mouth and the rope burns and all of it, and he feels like he's going to cry. Jon's still staring at him like he can't believe it; he's still holding onto Martin's hands. "You could've been…" he says, and he doesn't finish. He pushes forward and hugs Martin, face half-hidden against his neck. 

Martin hugs him back, clutching at the back of Jon's shirt, and when he whispers, "Are you all right?" again, Jon nods. 

\---

Helen takes them back to the Archives. Very convenient, Melanie says, for the rental car they left in Great Yarmouth, to which Tim says shortly, "Fuck it. I don't care. Send the bill to Elias and tell him to fuck off."

They end up back at Martin’s flat, simply because no one really wants to leave, and because Martin has a second bedroom. (It’s small, yes, and Jon knows it must be costing him an arm and a leg, but all Martin says when Melanie asks is, “It’s… just in case. In case my mum wants to come back and live with me again.” And Jon is suddenly ashamed that he never knew Martin’s mum once lived with him, or that she didn’t want to anymore.) The second bedroom is empty, though, and Tim and Sasha claim that one, curling up in a tangle of arms and legs on top of the bedspread. Melanie falls asleep on the couch, one arm slung over her eyes, and Georgie, who met them here to embrace a stunned Jon at the door and call him an idiot, is on the rug with a pile of throw pillows. Basira goes home. And Martin insists Jon take his bed. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Martin,” Jon says when he insists, rubbing a hand over the creases at the side of his mouth. He’s exhausted and achey, wrists and ankles covered in rope burns, mouth perpetually dry from the gag, and he can see the same marks on Martin—lighter but still there—and he just wants it to be over. Martin and Sasha were taken because of him, because they came for him. “I’m not taking your _bed._ It’s your bed!”

“Yes, and you were just kidnapped, Jon. I’m not letting you sleep on an _air mattress_ ,” Martin says pointedly. 

“You were just kidnapped, too,” Jon says softly. “And it’s your flat. I won’t kick you out of your bedroom.” 

Martin swallows, looking a little frustrated, rubbing a hand over his face, and Jon feels bad all over again. “Maybe… we could just share,” he says, too softly, because what he is really embarrassed to say is that he doesn’t want to be alone. It’s been a _week_ (Sasha told him), a week he’s spent tied to a chair with the threat of being skinned alive hanging over him, and then everything today with Helen and Michael and Sasha and Martin… he doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t. 

Martin looks a little surprised at that, but he says, “Oh… all right.” 

This is how Jon ends up in borrowed clothes on the right side of Martin's bed (Martin asked him which side he preferred, and Jon said it didn't really matter, and they went back and forth about it for a moment before Martin finally just got on the left side, and Jon awkwardly crawled on the other side). It's a rather nice bed, actually—what looks like a handmade quilt, and sheets that smell of laundry detergent, and far too many pillows. Maybe it just feels so nice because of what a relief it is to lie down, after a week of sitting in a chair; Jon is cramped sore and exhausted, to the point where he could nearly fall asleep standing up. "You comfortable enough?" Martin says from the other side of the bed, voice muffled and sounding almost as sleepy as Jon's. "I-I could get more blankets, or more pillows, if you'd like." 

"This is fine," Jon says quietly. "Thank you." 

They go quiet for a moment, in the darkening room. Jon pulls his glasses off and sets them on the bedside table. They didn't fare any better than he did in all this; he managed to crack one lens in that first scuffle. It's surprisingly unbothersome, though; Jon's found his eyesight has been strangely improving over the past few months. It blurs less without his glasses, almost like he's gone down a few prescriptions. It's not the oddest thing to happen in all this, he supposes, especially considering he apparently serves something called the Eye. He can actually make out most of the dark shapes in Martin's bedroom. And when Martin speaks again—says, "I'm so sorry, Jon," in a familiarly trembling voice—and Jon turns to look at him, he can still make out Martin's face. 

"It's _all right_ , Martin," he says, gently as he can manage. "It is, I don't… _blame_ you and Sasha for being captured in the midst of your rescue attempt. I was… I was scared for you both, b-but not upset." 

"Not for that," Martin says. "I'm sorry it took us so long to find you. A-a whole _week_ we left you there, when we could have… we didn't even know you were gone right away, and Elias was _no_ help, and we didn't know where… we had to go off of footage from Georgie's security camera, and that wasn't much to go off of at all, and then we couldn't find anything else…"

"Martin, Martin, it's all right. It's all right. It's… there wasn't anything else you could've done." Jon fumbles across the bed searching for Martin's hand, but he can't quite find it; he sort of brushes his fingers over Martin's and then pulls back. "I know… I know you did things as quickly as you could. I don't… thank you, for coming for me. I-I don't know how to thank you for that."

Martin's quiet for a moment, eyes shifted down towards the mattress. "Tim said something earlier," he says quietly. "Did you… did you really think we _wouldn't_ come for you?" Jon doesn't say anything. "Of _course_ we would come for you," Martin says, almost angrily. "Of course we would… we weren't just going to _leave_ you there." 

"I… I wasn't certain that it would be obvious that I was gone for those purposes," says Jon, a bit stiffly. He presses one hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn. "O-or that Orsinov wouldn't do something to cover for my disappearance." 

"The way that Prentiss did," Martin says, nearly whispering now. 

Jon flushes a bit at the memory, has to close his eyes. "Yes… the way that Prentiss did," he murmurs. "Martin, I… I'm sorry. I should be the one apologizing, really, you were trapped in your flat for _two_ weeks and no one came looking for you." 

"You don't need to apologize, Jon, it was a long time ago."

"Only a year, really. And that's not… that's not the only thing I should apologize for, Martin. There's a lot…" 

"If we go through it all, we'll be up all night," Martin says, and Jon chokes back a surprised laugh. Martin chuckles a little, too, almost nervously, and says, "It's… it's water under the bridge, Jon. I've forgotten it. Maybe we… maybe we should just put a hold on the apologies for now."

"If… if you insist," Jon says quietly. There's a bruise blooming around Martin's left eye, probably a punch courtesy of fucking Breekon and Hope, and he can't stop staring at it, can't stop replaying that scene in the wax museum in his head. He'd really thought… well, Orsinov hasn't done much to make him doubt her threats, and so there was no reason for him to doubt the threats she made today. And Martin, standing there as a captive with his arm twisted back, being threatened with being skinned alive, was still trying to apologize to Jon. And Jon's apologies have been few and far between. He hasn't really apologized to Martin, not for all the things he should have. 

"What really matters," Martin says, matter-of-factly, "is that we're all safe. That's all that matters in the end."

"Y-yes, it is," Jon says, thinking of Sasha and Tim in the other room, and Melanie and Georgie on the couch, and Basira headed to wherever it is she goes, all safe and unscathed. And Martin, only a few feet away from him. His throat is thick when he speaks again: "I-I'm glad— _very_ glad—that you're all right, Martin." 

Martin blinks, almost surprised—his eyes are bigger without his glasses. His expression softens and he nods a bit, as if overwhelmed. Jon's not sure who reaches out first—maybe they both reach out at the same time—but the next thing he knows, their hands are tangled together under the quilt. Martin's hand is warm. He squeezes Jon's hand a bit and murmurs something like, "Get some sleep, Jon." 

Jon doesn't remember much after that. He sleeps—really sleeps, uninterrupted and safe, for the first time in a week. And he falls asleep while he is still holding onto Martin's hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna be honest, this chapter is very self indulgent of me. i wanted to write a version of 101 where someone came for jon besides micheal, because i was expecting that to happen in canon, and because honestly jon deserves to have someone come for him. originally the rescue was a lot more straightforward in my head -- i was gonna have them all go in with michael before i realized that there was no way they'd trust michael unless they thought they had no other choice. 
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @ghostbustermelanieking !
> 
> edit: i'm so sorry it's been so long since updates. i've been really badly blocked lately, and i started a fic for a big bang, and i've kind of been busy with that. i don't plan on abandoning this fic, tho, and i promise i will try to get chapter 6 out as soon as i can.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic came entirely from me listening to 161, being blown away by the gertrude tape, and wanting to see something where they found it much earlier. (and also wanting to write something where tim and sasha live because that's the other way 161 fucked me up.) i'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies in here; i'm pretty new to tma but it's a lot of fun!
> 
> i owe a lot of thanks to the wiki and the transcripts for helping me confirm details. i used a few lines of dialogue from the show (and rewrote some others as what i thought would be consistent with this au), although i tried to avoid lifting full conversations. all credit for those parts go to the creators. 
> 
> this au was a lot of fun to write! i'm planning to try and continue it further Into the show, but i've tried to leave it in a good place in case i don't.
> 
> i can be found on tumblr at @ghostbustermelanieking, spiraling over this podcast.
> 
> edit: as of now, i am planning to continue this. i've got a tentative outline, am tentatively planning on 15 chapters, and am a good ways into a 2nd part, which should hopefully be up soon!


End file.
